The Truth Embarks a New Beginning

"She is mine"

In the way my cheeks stretch out broken promises and forgotten epiphanies, I stand five feet tall in front of the window, wishing and praying for time to commence. But it doesn't. And it never again will. Because I will relive the thunder and lightning for the rest of my life. I will count the days in the grand flashes and study the stars in the rumbling clashes. Eventually, I realized it was kismet in the way I aligned with the window frame, that my life is stealthily defined by the moments between, and I will never again see her gracious figure. She was frail and broken, but she was mine.
    The day she left, I traveled miles to uncover the arcane details of her last remembrance. She told me that life was all a circus act and we were the main attraction. I never understood her banal statement until I became the stillness in a world of movement. I never understood her departure from this evergreen to the next terra incognita until her words ignited the spotlight on my shaking hands. I never understood how she thought our love had a strong tang and was tainted with toxicity, but then again, I never understood her.
    The day we met, I returned home and wrote down everything I remembered from her smile. I indented paragraphs with her eyes, titled chapters with her skin, and punctuated pages with the way her cheeks stretched out and sparkled with sun rays and butterfly kisses. I loved her the moment I saw her on that stage singing the blues. She was a star. Her lucid speech of love and devotion, her lewd but romantic dancing, and above all else her grand understanding of the word "always". Every languorous thought I had was of her, I saw her in the grocery store between the records of Billy Joel and The Beatles. I saw her in the movie show crouched down with her head on her lap afraid of the boogeyman, and I saw her in my empty pages and how the blank paper was a sort of innocuous teasing for an early goodbye. However, I could not say goodbye. We had only just met, how could I say goodbye?
    Thus, I began seeking her more frequently. I took a panorama in my head of every swimming pool, city park, and book store I had seen her at. I saw her natural talent seeping out of every note she sang and comment she made. I was there for her on the days she felt quite lethargic and I was there on the nights she blew the crowd away. I felt close to her, every encounter, every intriguing conversation, and every subtle glance, I stifled my giggles until I was certain her actions were fueled by affection. However, she quickly realized our frequent encounters were anything but an unfathomable prognostication, and she turned cold and began to be vexed with me.
    However, I could see in her eyes, those bright blue eyes with denim stars and coral flecks that she was devoted to me. Hopelessly and uncontrollably devoted. Due to her sagacity, she fell short of reaching the words she needed to say, but she loved me. I know she loved me. So, I became more daring, I knew she wanted me to work for her affection so I began dropping love notes with flowers on her doorstep, I booked venues for her to sing at, and I bought her a brand new record player. Eventually, she submitted to affection and we were happy.
    While she would smile less with me, I saw in the way her cheeks stretched for miles, that she was forcibly content with me. She rarely showed it, but she was as happy with me as I was with her. She would come home from a night of jazz and liquor and fall asleep on the couch with a smile plastered on her face. A smile she could never get rid of.
    The day she left I woke up to find her bags packed. I suppose she planned on running out on me. I don't quite know what happened or where she had run off to, I especially don't know why she left her bags behind, but ever since I have been suspended in time, motionless and bound together by chains. This restless search for my lovely honey relies heavily on the clashes of thunder and the flashes of light. I lie still and broken on a bed of heavy hopes and sorrows, wishing to become unstuck, praying to travel miles upon miles to recover my sweet little baby. Because, at the end of the day, she is mine and she will always be mine. But she has always put on her circus act, she has always dazzled the crowd with her two-faced puppet show, and all I can do now is remain in limbo. Relive my endless nights staring out these barred frames, waiting for my cheeks to stretch out a melody that sounds vaguely of her name.