"Two Of Disease"

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Status: Finished  |  Genre: Poetry  |  House: Booksie Classic
A young being known as "Tal" recalls the events of losing his love.

Submitted: December 17, 2007

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Submitted: December 17, 2007



"  A dash of skin, pinched off in wrath.
A dab of blood that swims and follows.
Aia....Aia.....I've forgotten your face,
Yet I think and write of you.....

These are the words I have started in my journal. It's a small book that I know not how I came to own. The edges are frayed from my fits of rage that I cannot seem to remember. I write in it everyday. This is what it is like to be me...for I know what I am.....but I am marred to the the thoughts of what I did the day before each day.

I lay down my pen and step out of my small residence. It's a weathered shack on the corner of a beautiful foggy wood. The air tickles my nose. I have no idea how old I am, but I know what I like. I sit on the same rock every morning and think not of the atrocities that I must have done the night before. The small pads of dirt under my bare feet are a comfort. I curl my toes, digging up small chunks of the earth between them. "How old is this dirt?" I ask myself. Nobody asks these questions. To ponder such things must be a waste of time for most, but it is all I know. My buried thoughts are accompanied by a brisk breeze across the back of my neck. Beautiful....

I wish I could tell you that those things were the only things I contemplate every morning.....but they are not. I sit outside every morning because I am expecting someone. Most people would not have someone for breakfast....besides I'm not hungry at all....I had someone for dinner. The someone I am expecting is not a person at all. At least, not a normal person. I don't know her face but we see each other everyday. We are in love. She is my lover.

I see her making her way through the forrest towards me. I am astounded at how beautiful she really is.

"Are you the one I write of everyday?" She asks me "You must be since you are waiting at the very spot I describe in my journal everyday."

I have been running back and forth over a bold question all morning...
" Can we make love today?" I ask her

"Yes" Is her reply.

We retreat to my humble shack and our hand begin to explore one another. Every dimple and curve of her body feels so familiar and new to me. She runs her fingers from the base of my spine to the top of my back....then digs her nails deep into the fleshy part of my neck....how can I forget this everyday?

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