Angels In The Orchestra

I begin to feel that I don’t even know myself anymore. I awakened one day, to find it all had changed. The landscape was unfamiliar and my hopes, fears, dreams, desires . . . had all shifted, had been allowed to shift. The dream that took so many years to build can turn to nightmares, and without noticing, return to a dream again. Where there were Bohemians, now there are angels. Angels in the orchestra, angels in the audience, angels staring me in the eyes, unblinking, not speaking, just staring at nothing I can see. I feel surrounded but so terribly alone.

Then a stranger appears. I know him; it seems as though I have been waiting for him, but we are just meeting. He tells me tales of distant days and a place where there is no future, there is hardly even now. It frightens and excites me, and I am drawn in. All too soon he is gone and the nightmare returns. His words appear as warm tears falling from the skies, and I feel uplifted, but unsettled. Then I can’t wait, I have to hear his voice, but all I hear is the stranger telling me that he cannot tell me.

Angels appear on my computer screen. Their message is warm, but their eyes are cold, unblinking, just speaking in silence of things I don't understand. Where am I? Nothing looks familiar. Piece by piece, it disappears until I clutch at anything I can call mine. And the pain grows blinding. I cannot look. I close my eyes.

All I Wanted

I didn’t lure you; you just knocked quietly and came in. Your smile was something beyond delight; it was sheer heaven to me. Then you lay on my bed and eased into repose. I just sat and watched. I could have acted, maybe I should have, but I didn’t. In my mind, I climbed on, and just smiled into your smile. I wanted to hold you, feel your warmth, and press my face into your neck. I wanted you to put your arm around me and hold me at your side. I wanted more than I will ever have.

But that’s all I really wanted.

In reality, we are standing. I put my arms around you, as I often do, and you responded in kind. You embraced me in a tight response that indicates as much need as giving. I feel your need, and I take what you give. I told you it need not be so tight, and I put your arm around my back. You allowed me, trusting. I gently put my arms around you again, and lay my head on your chest.

I said, “This is all I need.”

I feel your hand on my back in momentary ease, then a stiffening of cautious indifference. I sense a multitude of feelings race through you, though you stand in utter stillness. I don’t want this unease for you, so I let go.

Again and again.

I know you. I have seen you in my dreams so many times. In another time, another place, we could be. Is it your quiet strength, those soulful eyes, or is it the hidden softness that very few have ever seen? These are the very qualities I search for, and there, right before me you stand. But it is not to be. Something so strong, something so close I can touch it, eludes me.

Over and over.

A Bottle of Wine

There’s a bottle of wine in the refrigerator downstairs, the one where all of the extra stuff is kept; the stuff you don’t need everyday, the stuff that doesn’t fit, the stuff that you are saving for a special occasion. You mentioned that you couldn’t find the wine any place where you live; it was a favorite of yours and it had been for a long time . . . I bought that wine for you because we were going to have a special time to enjoy it. I bought your favorite crackers, you favorite cheese, and I even bought a box of your favorite cereal for the morning. It’s been two months now and the special time never came. The cereal didn’t last very long, the crackers went next, and I really don’t like the cheese, but I got hungry one night.

Your picture is no longer in the special frame I bought for it. The frame sits empty because nothing else really belongs there. It is a cherry framed advertisement for the store where I bought it. The drawer I emptied for your visits is slowly filling back with my things. They are like weeds overgrowing an empty patch of land. The empty end of the closet is empty no more. If you were to come now, there would be no place to hang your weekend clothes. But you haven’t come for many weekends and I don’t think you will be here on the next.

There’s a bottle of wine in the refrigerator downstairs. I’m growing very thirsty.