The smell of parchment swirls slowly through the air, drifting down sunbeams among the dust of long kept secrets Secrets creeping 'tween the shelves, careful, cautious, the silence - screaming stretching straining to hide softest whispers, too long looks. Penned in open, or inked in secret. Wrapped in binding of every hue, left behind words, long lost breath Ancient letters, swollen scrolls Tales of adventures that slink between the margins. Secrets are kept closed and saved between the pages But the smell of you - open just a crack
Your name is not a shape. But if it was, it wouldn't be bold and blocky like Brandon. It would be a smooth river stone, hardness turned soft by the constant chafing of time. Your name is not a texture. But if it was, you wouldn't be like Craig, heavy and seamless as fresh cut stone. It would be like newly cut pine, soft and willing to bend, with a smell that welcomes everyone. Your name is not an odor. But if it was, it wouldn't be like Nathan, smelling like mold and something buried. It would be like fresh growth emerging from the ground towards the sun. Your name is not a light. But if it was, it wouldn't be like Darren, a flickering dusty lightbulb. It would be like a flashlight, cutting apart the dark because it's a road you've been down before, leaving everything soft and golden. Your name is not a color. But if it was, it wouldn't be a bright neon color like Serenity. It would be a softer hue, adding depth and value, while willing to be overlooked. Your name is
If a carver does not carve
is he a carver still?
When wood chips flex beneath his skin,
and sawdust fills his soul?
Tell me please, my heart must know.
If a writer does not write,
is she a writer still?
When letters are carved among her bones
And ink flows through her veins?
Let me tell you, for my whole self knows,
Identity comes from hearts, not hands.
That moment like the first spring flower blooming,
when you burst out of the spotted shadows,
the sun beams to see you outside again.
And you beam back.
All that you are lingers here,
the echo of your laughter in the silence,
the smell of your hugs on my arms.
The world seems to bow to you,
like an old enemy, or an older friend.
The happiness you bring with you everywhere
seeps inevitably into all that you do,
like the smallest drop of dye colors the entire bucket of water.
It remains behind you like a perfume, a reminder that you were there
and a promise to come again.
"Describe your childhood in one word."
"Pink."
"Your childhood was pink?"
"No, the ending was."
"You're not making any sense. I thought you hated pink."
"I do."
"Than why describe your childhood as pink?"
"I didn't always."
I didn't always know. There was once a time when pink meant candy and bows,
charm bracelets and love. That was before pink had any connection with you.
First I connected you with red.
Red like the sunset of our first kiss.
Red like the roses you brought me.
Second I connected you with orange
Orange like the card you bought me when I was ill.
Orange like the dress you helped me pick for my sisters wedding.
Third
There comes a point in everyone's lives,
when they realize that there isn't going to be anything
better than the moment they're in,
and that everything else is just an echo,
all going downhill.
You
Look like the first sunbeam after the rain
the wind in the trees,
Water through the trees,
A candle in the dark;
Sound like church bells,
A song in a language that is not my own,
A word of hope when I have none,
An answer;
Smell like Iron,
A little like mint
coffee and sugar,
Something I've forgotten;
Taste like an irrepressible smile,
cotton candy at the fair,
the rain in the woods,
Childhood;
Feel like an umbrella in the rain,
the peace that only music brings,
Safety after long fear,
Belonging and home;
My senses are overcome by your presence.
I check the time yet again,
just to be sure there were no mistakes.
A force rises in me, pulling me up.
I want to run and jump and fly.
It takes me a moment to recognize it.
Hope. Excitement. Happiness. Joy. Elation.
Strange, foreign things to me, for so long.
Things I recognize from a distance,
but that haven't been part of me in a long time.
I laugh, and it lingers as a smile.
Hope.
I had always told myself there winter didn't last forever,
that there was bound to be light at the end of my tunnel.
But I'd been in the darkness for so long,
I'd lost my certainty that light even existed.
Perhaps it was only a dream, or a childhood fantasy.
I step out into the rain and close my eyes, spreading my arms open to the world.
"Can you see it Mel?"
Because even with my eyes closed, I can still see the world around me,
because I've opened the eyes of my heart, as I learned to do so long ago.