Saturday, August 27, 2005
Door watching
We are all teenagers again, when we're on the island. The perennial crush, still there. At the same place he always is, watching emerald waters waters framed by Turkey's haze, hiding eyes behind dark shades, drinking icy beer and smiling quietly with me. The same hidden part of my heart that sometimes dares to flutter and think, Some Day. Crush that never was, really, and still eludes, but was and is and will be, nonetheless.
Dark to my light, wrong to my right, late-night to my early mornings, it's still there- maybe all the more, for it. Less so than last year, as I've fought and worked real hard to rid myself of this monkey that clings and teases, nonetheless. Sometimes I play with it since we like the same sparkly toys and bright lights, but for the most part I try to pry it loose. For every paw I free, another firmly grsps and clasps my neck, over the years. Time would say, you've changed, he's all wrong for you, nothing fits. I'd say, but we know and love these same walls and waters, roads and rituals, and when we hug my cheek melts to his shoulder. Watch the same soft suns set and improbable moons spill their silver light on dark seas and tan faces.
In '00 the sun's fingers spun cotton candy waters as we swam around each other. We drank ouzo in the shade of the Acropolis and walked under the August moon in the Plaka. '94 saw us constantly bickering despite the draw, because we were stubborn and used to things our way and neither would give in. '01 saw my reserve and resolve crumble, as I confessed and conceded that despite my efforts and better judgment, was still crazy about him. Last year, much the same, despite how much I thought I'd changed, moved on and away. He is who and how he is, and if I were to change him, that would not be him. Self-destructive crap and all. Neither can I ask that he change, for me. Separate continents, lives, paths, bridged only by Chios and shared memories. And familiarity, and caring. Friendship. I still watch doors, waiting for him to arrive and make me bellylaugh.
These games, no more. We've outgrown the seesaw. But we're all teenagers again, on the island, it seems.
Dark to my light, wrong to my right, late-night to my early mornings, it's still there- maybe all the more, for it. Less so than last year, as I've fought and worked real hard to rid myself of this monkey that clings and teases, nonetheless. Sometimes I play with it since we like the same sparkly toys and bright lights, but for the most part I try to pry it loose. For every paw I free, another firmly grsps and clasps my neck, over the years. Time would say, you've changed, he's all wrong for you, nothing fits. I'd say, but we know and love these same walls and waters, roads and rituals, and when we hug my cheek melts to his shoulder. Watch the same soft suns set and improbable moons spill their silver light on dark seas and tan faces.
In '00 the sun's fingers spun cotton candy waters as we swam around each other. We drank ouzo in the shade of the Acropolis and walked under the August moon in the Plaka. '94 saw us constantly bickering despite the draw, because we were stubborn and used to things our way and neither would give in. '01 saw my reserve and resolve crumble, as I confessed and conceded that despite my efforts and better judgment, was still crazy about him. Last year, much the same, despite how much I thought I'd changed, moved on and away. He is who and how he is, and if I were to change him, that would not be him. Self-destructive crap and all. Neither can I ask that he change, for me. Separate continents, lives, paths, bridged only by Chios and shared memories. And familiarity, and caring. Friendship. I still watch doors, waiting for him to arrive and make me bellylaugh.
These games, no more. We've outgrown the seesaw. But we're all teenagers again, on the island, it seems.
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