Saturday, May 2, 2009

The Brink Of Winter

Instant coffee never tasted so good as this morning; when I sat with her on the ash covered, small steps of her front porch, with her beside me and her head, then, on my shoulder and the thick smoke drifting out of our mouths into the crisp, swiftly ending Autumn morning Balwyn air. The day was both beginning and ending. Beginning with the end; our time together, since earlier last night's evening and sleeping in each other's arms and now having to leave to our respective, separate days. And ending, then, with the realisation and wistful foresight; of my saturation in the beginning of love.

I knew it was so and such only because it was the feeling; haunting in it's long, likely unfamiliarity and my trouble to place it with rationale or logic or thought or explanation. Further, whilst excited me, it terrified me in it's ambiguity and I knew firmly and desired inexplicably to continue determining it love. And though the word betrays my desire of description, my inability and ignorance with English language or the very impossibility of a precise word existing, suggests such imbuement knows no other fitting vocalisation of the intense surmise of excitement and attraction inside me and the immediacy of it lacks reason other than that so.

I was taken to and with heartbreak and relations in the Winter, and with just after beginnings of sentences stating that these things always happen in Winter. This morning was feeling the brink of Winter but the sun, fortuitous in it's appearance, escalated my hopes and heart's glow. It was almost as though, her and I had
succumbed to sleep last night, perhaps at the end of Summer and when awoken today found, dream-like in absolute sense and logic, that Winter had been universally and completely skipped, history of it non-existent, and we were embracing Spring as a butterfly born from a cocoon.

When so unsure of a feeling, of a consuming, maybe gnawing or nagging sentiment, notion, emotional inclination, daydreaming, we feel compelled, driven, desperate to categorise it and name it and mind-map it's
entirety in order to resolve ourselves with control of what it means and where it will take us and to continue instinctively towards knowing ourselves. But I am unresolved; unable to reconcile the fortuities for the facts; incompetent at acknowledging the simplicity that one so short and over used, underestimated word is sufficient. My heart is writing it's four letters over and again upon my brain, whilst my mind is wiping them away with a stubborn eraser waning to keep up speed.

But, today, I sipped, enjoying the instant coffee in a moment of solitude- black, sugarless, warm and pleasantly bitter and awakening.

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