If You Sing The Melody

If you sing the melody, I'll find a harmony. The only light I like to be on me is sunshine and I dream in black and white. Sometimes I may answer your questions in a language you do not speak. My life has been full of all that bête noire, but I believe the best of humanity. We are exactly what we put into this world. I enjoy conjugating verbs and kisses. It's not much, sugar, but it's all I know. This road began in Casablanca.

You're facetious while I'm capricious and between the two of us, it's a wonder the point is ever reached. I don't know what you do and I don't know where I am. But you can't also have every piece of information before making the leap. I was in a little white dress, fitting. And the past is not forgetable, oh this, graphic novel of stories. My ring had a finger, a piece of twine so delicately wrapped around. I burned it that December day.

Forever is a long time and it's what I'm searching for. I don't wish to sound vague or cryptic, but I'm really unsure of my voice in any other manner. Sarcasm is a tool of God himself. My fingers hit black and white keys, hoping to create sound after the noise and before the music. This is where I am standing and I can't explain why I won't move. I'm staring at the clouds, isn't there a verse for this? I think I've heard this tune.

My blankets are made of untrust and I prefer to be warm. My heart breaks each morning and is put carefully back together over the course of the day. I imagine this is what the world has always been and never was. Unused potential without the potential to be used. Where am I standing, where am I standing? This isn't what I thought it was and my heart is in my toes. Separated and fallen so far down myself. I am searching the skies for something I thought I see.

It's ironic, paradoxical? My English has worn thin and I need a new. This is the great divorce, the great divergence of all that I thought. Oh how false seems pretty in the sunlight as it glances off and makes the world shine for just a moment. But the temporary isn't what I'm looking for. It isn't what I thought it was, nothing ever is. But I was never promised truth, only contentment. This is my life, I think.

I'll read this page until it fades between my fingers. Worn thin by love and affection poured out into action. I'll never stop dreaming and my feet are anything but on the ground. There is something about the sky and the water and the wildlife that is far too appealing for anything of that nature. I'm hopeless and I like that and I am not sure if it'll change. So here is how I'll spin it, to the left to loosen the heartache. Pray for this moment, cause it's all you'll ever have.

Four Funerals And One Hundred Engagements

"Bom dia, minha estrela." Every morning is the same and I can hear your smile. It sounds tired but determined, you don't want to let me down. I'm afraid of never hearing that voice again. Scared this might be the last time you make me laugh, the last time I hear your soft Portuguese kiss my ears. There are diamonds in these eyelashes, easily wiped away if I were strong enough to pick up my hand. I love you, I love you, te amo tanto. This is the moment.

You ask about my night, I tell you how happy I am. It's the greatest dichotomy ever handed to me, I always loved the beauty of contradiction. It's bittersweet now - how appropriate. I've never talked so much about God in one sitting and still felt the need to further discuss the issue. I tell you I'm working and it makes you laugh. You tell me that you think I've found the one, whatever that means. I don't know that you're right, but I won't disagree with you now. My heart is in so many pieces. There are worse things than romantic heartbreak.

"You are my church, estrela." I smile. And you are mine, most beautiful man whom I love, and you are mine. I have everything I need right here, on the other end of this phone. Your voice is the only thing I need now. I am so tired of counting funerals. Just another excuse for a pretty dress and so I won't let you have one. This is my celebration of life, your life. I demand it be celebrated. I'm determined to smile. "Always so full. Full of joy, full of light. You are the best person, estrela." Only, I'm not. You are.

There is something in the way you say my name, "Estrela," that makes me believe in tomorrow. You are so sure of who I am and I think it makes me into that person a little more each morning when I wake up to your voice. I love you, I love you, te amo. You're so kind, so sincere. You say what you mean and mean what you say. And with each morning of frenchpress, I feel myself holding you closer and closer to my heart. It's only half true, absence isn't the only thing that makes the heart grow fonder. I'm not sure of the other half, but you have it.

You were named for the Saint, Mateo. But I don't remember ever calling you that. I don't remember you once being that name. You have always been Maddyfeijao to me, Mads on affectionate occasion... Your name moves so smoothly off my lips. I know exactly how to form it, where to place the emphasis for every emotion I have with you. What will I do without it? It's hard to explain how names go out of use once you lose the one they belong to. I am afraid of it happening to yours. So soon, too soon. There is so much more and less to say. All of it begins with your name on my lips.

This morning you ask if I will do you a favor. I tell you anything because I mean it. I would do anything, anything at all. I can hear the strain in your voice, I can hear the discomfort. You're fading. I've heard this same malaise and I never wanted to again. But it's here in front of me and I'll do anything, anything you ask. There is a moment of silence. Only breathing. The clouds are so beautiful today. We used to watch them together. And then you ask, "Write this down, it's important."

"Please be happy. Please live your life. Please take advantage of every moment. Please fall in love and allow yourself to be loved. Please get married and have children. Please love God and humanity without regret. Please continue to be exactly who you are. Do none of these things because I tell you, but because you realize you deserve them." I can hear you smiling and I smile back. We're quiet for a moment and you tell me how much you love me. I've never believed anyone as much as I believe you in this moment.

"So many engagements this spring, I feel strange and out of the loop." You tell me not to. That it'll come soon enough, probably sooner than I imagine. And that mine will be just as, if not more full of love and joy. You think I've already found who God's created for me. "A perfect set," you say. And you have only one request, the same one he had of me. "I don't know that I'll be there, estrela. But I will be there with you. Write out our love. Small, just for you. A liberdade, unicamente liberdade, estrela." I know, I've made this promise before. It's my most precious promise, my most precious secret. And I'll keep it. Close to my heart, where I keep you.

"To this I search for,

a keeper of the heart

that does not fall before the wind falls.

My life, my love,

described as infinite,

without compromise my sacrifice knows no bounds."

Empty Hands

i am afraid of the empty space in my hand

i'd rather it be full

and

if i'm being honest

i know what i'd like to be there

you have a good grip

just not on the situation

your smile is what lights the dim

of four in the morning

i would never like to read minds

especially not yours

but i would like to know

what is sitting upon yours

from your own lips

and not from my own thoughts

you ask me

sometimes

to tell you about things

that i am not ready to tell you

other times i ask you

but that smile graces your lips

i put it there

not always

but more often that not

i treasure the hours

and i like when you tell me things

that you haven't spoken of

in some time

the empty space in my hand

it makes me uncomfortable

i'd rather it be full

and i know what i'd like to be there

you are honest

too honest

it's good for me to know

that people can be too honest

the existence of what i thought imaginary

the last

the last one

well

wasn't honest like i thought

it made me want to keep empty hands

but i miss them being full

i am not sure about the past

i have no idea about the future

then you smile

and i don't have to know

either way

Conversating With The Ceiling

I'm wearing thin and you can see through me. It makes me uncomfortable, makes me squirm. But then you kiss me lightly on the forehead with your smile and Love. I feel you here beside me. I close my eyes to listen better to the sound of your voice. This is what straight jackets are for.

Skepticism keeps you safe, but safe is not the same as happy. So I am out on a tree branch and laughing at how it bends beneath my weight. Tomorrow I may not have a branch to stand upon and so I must play on it today. Lost in my thoughts and the Love of your gaze, I am content as it has been promised to me.

My burdens have been placed elsewhere. I deserve to be burried beneath them and yet I lift my eyes and see stars. How blessed, how graced, how affected by mercy. I think so little of tomorrow as you have promised to care for it. And still, I seek after. I seek after.

You've given me each thing I've asked for, in a way I least expected. Or, perhaps, even wanted. So patient with the sound of my voice and the length of my questioning. I look to the ceiling where I imagine you to live and I can see you shaking your head at my perposterous notions of understanding.

Hoping in small joys. I am glad of it. The eternal optimist, I believe joy and Love can fix all that they come across. Broken dishes included. There is something in the way you whisper my name. "Malialani," it sings. Here I am, here I am. I respond so loudly into your silence and I can almost hear the laughter playing on the wind. "Silly child, whom I Love."

I am listening. I am meant to be listening. I am trying to be listening. How small I am in all of these moments. I could never understand Love. Not in the way that you are. I can only ever beg to be spared the full amount, for I am undeserving and could not ever hope to be strong enough to withstand it.

What I'll never understand is why. Not in all my attempt at comprehension will I know. For it was I who killed you. After thousands of years of disobedience and failure, and still you Love me. Always and unfailingly you Love me. Oh, how you Love me.