skonen_blades (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
skonen_blades) wrote2009-10-14 01:52 pm
skonen_blades) wrote2009-10-14 01:52 pm
Relationship
His mother was television.
Her father was the Justice System.
Later on, his hands belonged to a carpenter.
Later on, she turned comparing relatives into compelling narratives.
He was figuring that it was nearly time for the season to slaughter churches when she caught him in hand-made moccasins, a dance move of a rescue to start this heaving relationship to its first lurch of love.
All his life, he was entertainment. He lacked the depth to say what he wanted to.
The definition of the ordinary made flesh.
All her life, she was little miss used-to-be. A magician’s hat that people pulled tricks out of. The definition of nostalgia made present.
They stumbled into the forest together and were lost the same way that we all happen upon the fairy tales, the real fairy tales, that scared us as children.
He knew that it was hard to sleep in a hammock, especially during a struggle.
She knew that foresight was 20/20 when pinned down under a parent.
Black holes dotted their histories but they didn’t mention it and they didn’t consult friends or professionals. They were in that shallow canoe together experiencing the beginnings of rapids.
He began to let the alcohol in and the black out.
She started to count apologies.
After a half-life of a relationship, they snuggled up a fuse to a final firework of a fight that left them exhausted and single.
They both found out that war doesn’t happen in the shadows.
They both found out that for one to answer “Who am I?”, one must answer “Who was I?”
They both found out that if one has pride, then one doesn’t know oneself.
tags
Her father was the Justice System.
Later on, his hands belonged to a carpenter.
Later on, she turned comparing relatives into compelling narratives.
He was figuring that it was nearly time for the season to slaughter churches when she caught him in hand-made moccasins, a dance move of a rescue to start this heaving relationship to its first lurch of love.
All his life, he was entertainment. He lacked the depth to say what he wanted to.
The definition of the ordinary made flesh.
All her life, she was little miss used-to-be. A magician’s hat that people pulled tricks out of. The definition of nostalgia made present.
They stumbled into the forest together and were lost the same way that we all happen upon the fairy tales, the real fairy tales, that scared us as children.
He knew that it was hard to sleep in a hammock, especially during a struggle.
She knew that foresight was 20/20 when pinned down under a parent.
Black holes dotted their histories but they didn’t mention it and they didn’t consult friends or professionals. They were in that shallow canoe together experiencing the beginnings of rapids.
He began to let the alcohol in and the black out.
She started to count apologies.
After a half-life of a relationship, they snuggled up a fuse to a final firework of a fight that left them exhausted and single.
They both found out that war doesn’t happen in the shadows.
They both found out that for one to answer “Who am I?”, one must answer “Who was I?”
They both found out that if one has pride, then one doesn’t know oneself.
tags