Of all the memories I hold of you,
I have written of all except the most
Maybe I am afraid of sharing that
deeply as a writer, as a man, as a
Perhaps I fear I cannot hold my
enough to survive the submergence
tears freeing drops of salty liquid
from my lungs. Just enough to keep
me conscious and myself during the
descent to the most beautiful and
guarded memory I have to date.
I still recall the day my eyes learned
to properly interpret the beauty of a
portrait, because your face tapped
my sense of sight.
I still recall the way a simple touch
wake a body more than life itself,
because you touched my shoulder to
gain my attention, the one thing that
was always yours.
I still recall the chill of an owned
heartbeat willingly belonging to
someone who was once a stranger,
Its skip when you smiled, its race
when you teased, and the agony it
felt when you were the slightest bit
Yes, I recall each of these
experiences happening with
successions of breaths.
Three deep ones, and I was too
to decide which of us I loved more.
One more, and reality slipped away
to become a single recurring
"Awake or asleep, alive or dead,
wherever I am now, with her, is my
day, my existence."
Yeah, I remember every single
Each one was a few moments of
forever, and they each bear the
imprint of my clenched hand...
For me, that was the landslide.
The time in my life when
all structure and foundations of
were destroyed by emotions
unknown to me.
Where the purity of powerful snow
with the earth that once rested
firmly beneath my feet.
And all I once believed, as a boy,
was too damaged by the laws of life
to get back.
I was a teenager afterwards, and
my childhood innocence left the
moment I chose to love with the
urgency of a body, trapped beneath
the rubble of what was, seeking
oxygen to survive to what would be,
could be, should have been.
And that clueless boy with the
nervous smile died that day.
Life stole that innocence with
promises of a lasting first love, only
love, being offered at the end of a
But now, as child became teenager,
teenager is now damaged young
man. Bitter, cold, and still clueless as
to what is worth changing for, dying
Still terrified of the next landslide to
destroy the little that was salvaged
from the first.
Wishing like hell that he could be
that little boy once more, but all the
No amount of digging will ever see
him live again...
Copyright © Audonus Taylor