PrisonBreak

A cellotaped column of pink sunlight stole in

through under the door 

scurried up the wall and down onto

the arched back of the yogi cat

dying it's fur in BoomBoomBoomer 

before plunging headlong

into the dusty glass of water on the

corner study table.

With eyes like a pool of mail-lost greetings,

she watched.

Loop-Whole

Here's the deal - I don't want somebody to protect me.
Definitely not the somebody I'm in love with.
That's just corny (not in the good way) and needy and Twilight-y and....incorrect. But having said that, I suppose I'd want to love somebody in such tenderness that he comes to feel strong enough
to protect me. And that's different.
That's different from the frail colicky need to be babysit-ted that comes with the dated (and most horribly misinterpreted) idea of femininity in away that is brilliantly, subtly, strongly feminine. You'd think I'm exaggerating, but it is quite an exquisite secret to carry in your heart, you know, the knowledge that you have made a boy feel man enough to want to, try to protect you.
It doesn't really matter then, if he fails. Just the fact that he thinks he can will amuse you, and if you are like me, the hopeless sort, it might even melt the cockles of your heart to a fudge-y pool in your chest.
I could swear it is something like an act of creation. Like writing a sound verse from scratch. Or carving out a wooden piece from that broken branch they'd have put in the bonfire. Spinning strength from fragility, all the while putting on that awesome fragile-face of yours.
Sometimes he'd remind you of the wobbly puppy with a musical, slightly comic bark, trying fiercely (ha ha) to woof off other people from you. Entirely in vain.
But I suspect that is where it gets so engaging .Truth is,
he cannot protect you. And you'd probably never have asked him to, anyway. But just the fact that he really, positively believes that he can, is enough to warm your frosty feminist ventricles and make you want to believe that may be, in some less-twisted parallel universe,
he actually
could
:)

Hello Already -

It's one of those days when I wish,

I really really wish that I already knew you.

Those days when the fog-spun form of you that I have been carrying around in my head since

Godknowswhen is just not enough. 

It is not enough to know that we shall meet

someday, may be

under the coffee-cookie-pollutedstars air outside my favourite book-store ,

or at that crazy internship I was on the verge of letting pass, and that

you shall be a lot of things I've imagined, and a lot more that I didn't, but 

you shall be,

you shall be a referable, tactile, indismissable reality of mine, 

a face with it's unique contours, a voice with it's familiar husk,

a name with a set row of unchanging letters - waiting to be put apart from the milieu of inconsequential alphabets. You shall be some form of living, breathing, goofy-joke-cracking reality outside my head, outside the lisping assurance of all those finally-forever-after books and movies I have turned to

each time a love

grew 

up

and 

cold.

Today I am almost sorry, very nearly sad that I haven't figured out just where to bump into you yet. I'll play safe and assume that it's perfectly normal to miss you, even though I don't know you, for after all,

I love you.

I have loved you through all the loves that tossed me around in their unsure arrhythmia of illusion and dreams,

I have loved you when I was with the boy who never gave up on me till I wondered why he wouldn't just give up on me, 

I have loved you when I was with the boy who just gave up on me,

because I never saw that he had to.

I have looked for you in his pacing randomness and his settling calm,

in heroes and anti-heroes,especially anti-heroes,

of songs I half-knew-the-lyrics-to and novellas

that begun abruptly.

I didn't even leave alone the semi-damaged underdog character in that flashy medical drama that I devour with my dinner, sue me. So

trust me when I say I have looked for you, perhaps in the wrong places,

but hey, mine's a differently-abled love. (I pray you find that cute, if a little alarming.)

Which is why. I wish I knew you. 

Because I am kind of tired of straining at brushes and sweeps of your being in

other people. People who would have never got me anyway. People who would have known better than to stop

on their way and casually ask me, 

"and oh by the way,

do you enjoy misconstructing this life of yours

as often as you enjoy Explosions In The Sky?"

I am tired and I'm this close to breaking my heart over all those times I thought you

were that boy, that kid, that man - those jolly good fellows who didn't hang around long enough to

grow into you. It's one of those days when I wish I knew you, 

today, now, in this drifting second, I

wish we knew one another, like

people like to think they know other people. Yeah, it's one of those days. Still

if it's any consolation, I think

I'll love you through my tiredness after all. 

A little cajoling, a little Coldplay-ing, and I'll be spinning faith from frays again. I'm not too

proud of it anymore, but it almost never ceases to warm (and scare) me,

a person's power to move another. Really move another. And you will move me.

You will move me because Life, and it's rehab-returned-cousin called Love will move 

you.

That Indie-Folk will move you and that raped stranger will move you.

That droopy tail will move you and that shineless sky will move you -I hope.

Hope. It's probably a chronic gene thing with me, you know, this self-referring, self-reconstructing pit

of hope I carry in my coiled-up guts. But look, it's hope.

How wrong could it go? (Don't get back to me on that one yet.)

So.

Now that I have stirred some lame-lame words like one might stir Mojito-s and (so rarely) hearts,

I hope you are looking around in search of me too. I hope you are a little less tired, a little less

undone than I am, and I hope you know that you are loved and 

you will be. 

Because that set row of unchanging letters that make up your name? They were

brought together to move another person. 

Really move them.

And sure you don't know yet, but

that

person's

me.

(Also, apologies for the unbelievably Enrique-esque ending. I might as well have put on Somebody's Me in an embarrassing shuffle 'accident'. I will just... make it up to you

when we meet ??)