mi casa, su casa

Listening to: Green Day (Dookie)Written: 1-21-03 Time: 10:15p.m.

When I woke this morning… I picked up a bottle of perfume that has traveled with me for a little over five years…

I’ve used it sparingly…
At first, because it was the only prime expensive smell I owned…
And wanted it for just those “moments”…
Then in time, it became a memory over load… with each trace of aroma that traveled into my mind…
And used it… only when it served the cathartic mood.

Yet when I woke…. And picked up the enchanting bottle that had afforded me on any given occasion… the chance to close my eyes… to live… to remember…

Granted me it’s last bit…
And today did not begin or eclipse any feel of a “moment”…
It just struck me as…
Time.
An inevitable point in time, that I would cross… regardless of feel, instinct, rain or snow.
And now the pretty piece of hollow glass just sits…
Because it couldn’t return to where it once sat… for it’s purpose had finally been fulfilled… and now, it simply has no where to go.

**************************************************

Today I was asked about what I was wearing….

twice…

And twice I spoke said eulogy…
And twice,

They continued and went on….
As if I never had mentioned the name but twice…

***************************************************

Tonight as I removed my clothes…
I could smell him…

The way he smelled when we was on me…
And slowly, I would remove the memories that kept me warm for today… as the cold air felt compelled to remind me of the choice I had to make…
To remove what couldn’t be held onto for much longer…

And as I stepped into the shower… and bathed…Still being dizzied and bounced about with thoughts and wonders…
I bathed in just the same manner he bathed me… and remembered views of my body- from angles… only he could see…
If I turn my head to the left just enough… and look towards the bottom of my back… My back folds in to ridges, where the water running down my back… carefully bounces and folds into the crevices, reaching an invisible body of flow, up and over the highlights of my skin… created from years of play in the sun…
He’s still right…

It’s as if the first of the water… deliberately bounces and hops about… to avoid the “precious” spotted freckles that adorn my back…

“Sometimes even water, is not pure enough to touch…” he had said…

I laughed…

I always laughed…

‘It’s only words,’ I’d think… And even if I can see it for myself, years past… I won’t believe…
Silly boys… with silly words…

And in that moment… the realization came…

With all the connotative and denotative truths, made available with this memory…

I had literally washed him away…

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