(1 Attached File)
This poem contains the following sensitive themes: (Suicide). Please take this into consideration before reading.
(1 Attached File)
A memory.
I've been afraid to face it.
I want to do it scared.
(1 Attached File)
A moment.
I've deleted it and brought it back.
I've been interested, and I've ignored.
(1 Attached File)
A fracture.
Out of all the eloquence in the world
There is no one expressible emotion here
(1 Attached File)
~
Maybe it is a walk down memory lane
Maybe it is a gentle handhold
Or the idle body in a subtle breeze
The stimulation of the water latching carefully
Onto the skin of your legs
In tandem with the sand and the earth
Scratching and burning you-
A pleasurable displeasure.
Paradoxical.
"A photo," I say, running my finger along the now disturbed and displaced mat.
The seams seem to be falling out of alignment-
We have a lot in common.
It's just a picture; I spout as if I didn't know that when opened, I would drown.
Clever dams only ever resist half the flood.
I calmly assure myself I am no clever dam-
Instead, I am a continually unraveling mat, dissolving slowly into a ball of yarn.
I will be cut, pulled, sized up, fondled, mutilated, tossed, and tied back together.
Not in the same order.
Not under the same circumstances.
Never in the same condition as I started.
"It's one photograph," I utter as I stare at the illuminated screen.
The last standing pillar of what we were.
I know you long to be free.
Your condition seeping through the screen,
Reaching and pulling at the space between,
White, ghastly hands gripping fragile plastic,
Crushing it beneath their pressure, dragging themselves further beyond their domain.
I sit and watch, and out of the daydream, I realize you've not moved once.
~
(1 Attached File)
Maybe.
I am too afraid to open it.
Too afraid to relinquish the comfortable control the past has over me.
(1 Attached File)
Maybe.
I could click it and look away.
That tactile satisfaction satiating every craving to just open this rusted memory.
(1 Attached File)
Maybe.
I'll face it with a chipper smile.
I'll put my best foot forward, look, inspect you, and then put you away again.
(1 Attached File)
~
Like a passing billboard as you skate by on the highway, you see it once, and then it slowly fades into memory.
This, too, will fade into my memory at some future point.
Like a timestamp imprinting, a love unrequited, I will keep it marked forever.
However, at a certain point, it will rust over.
Tools under the laundry room sink sit crusted down to their hafts.
This, too, shall rust to the haft.
"It's just a photo," I posed when that cerebral tickle no sooner arose from the back of my neck.
My synapses fire back and forth through group therapy and speed counseling.
The abandonment of an idea, the isolation, and separation from this thought.
The thought that I may be able to face that one (1) attachment.
Am I foolish or mourning, wishing I could just see you one more time?
It's sad to know that I'll never know you like I did before.
An endless distance between us, growing wider between each word left unsaid.
A breath so resonant that it rings in my ears and still does.
My ears tune to the sound and the pitch as you vibrate the drums.
They bleed, and I lose my hearing, but even when I can't hear that breath anymore-
I know you're still waiting behind that one (1) attachment.
Always just waiting.
~
(1 Attached File)
Finally.
I've reached the falling action.
(1 Attached File)
Finally.
I've resolved to fix the conflict.
(1 Attached File)
Finally.
I can let you out.
(1 Attached File)
~
I move the mouse and hover over the button as if holding onto some strange hesitation.
I become human momentarily, vulnerable and open, helpless and culpable for letting you fade out of my mind.
How dishonorable of me to let you fade into a locked room where the resounding echo is your name, voice, and never you.
To keep you locked in place, forced to endure forever until I free you and remember.
Like the gate at Villa Cipressi, I part the doors from their longstanding connection;
creating a space for your access.
I double-click your prison as if the fear once ever-present no longer pervades inside of me.
I see you there, smiling with happiness at what we've long since lost, a reminder, no doubt, that you planned for me.
I'll recall the exact moment you smiled; no other detail withstands the test of time, and you're finally freed.
Your smile mutates, and my room grows dark.
I can't move as my window slowly creaks open. I know you need two hands to open it.
I know they're not yours.
Your gentle hands grab me by the throat; I know this was your intention; I know there is no way out of this alive.
Goaded by grief, my heart has exploded so deep within me; a picture so beautiful, so devoid of everything but joy, a joy I no longer possess.
I watch as my screen illuminates brighter; our last memory- your last stand against me- fades into the white of a new document.
Slowly, typed out in Copperplate Gothic;
"I never wanted this, I'm sorry."
I understand what you mean, as I can no longer control the pace and am led to the window.
Your voice is bouncing off the walls, and it is unintelligible to me now, not that it matters anymore.
I'm letting this memory die- you're letting that memory die.
That (1) attached file, that one fragmented memory I still hold on to.
It was never worth exploring; I should've let you go long ago, but I was never ready, and you were always waiting.
That cerebral tickle returns in a wave passing over my brain, the wrinkles moving violently in my head, my scalp itching, and my body halfway out the window now.
This, too, is a timestamp in time, a marked moment lasting forever, at least for you anyway.
I hope you watch me as I fall. I hope you watch and return calmly to your prison, guilty of this crime, though your hands were never involved.
It was always my own.
~
The room resets.
Nothing happened here.
The file was never opened.
No one lived to relive old lives.
The screen reads:
(1 Attached File)
All is as it should be.
Memoriae mortem honorabilem moriantur.
(Let memories die honorable deaths.)
A memory.
I've been afraid to face it.
I want to do it scared.
(1 Attached File)
A moment.
I've deleted it and brought it back.
I've been interested, and I've ignored.
(1 Attached File)
A fracture.
Out of all the eloquence in the world
There is no one expressible emotion here
(1 Attached File)
~
Maybe it is a walk down memory lane
Maybe it is a gentle handhold
Or the idle body in a subtle breeze
The stimulation of the water latching carefully
Onto the skin of your legs
In tandem with the sand and the earth
Scratching and burning you-
A pleasurable displeasure.
Paradoxical.
"A photo," I say, running my finger along the now disturbed and displaced mat.
The seams seem to be falling out of alignment-
We have a lot in common.
It's just a picture; I spout as if I didn't know that when opened, I would drown.
Clever dams only ever resist half the flood.
I calmly assure myself I am no clever dam-
Instead, I am a continually unraveling mat, dissolving slowly into a ball of yarn.
I will be cut, pulled, sized up, fondled, mutilated, tossed, and tied back together.
Not in the same order.
Not under the same circumstances.
Never in the same condition as I started.
"It's one photograph," I utter as I stare at the illuminated screen.
The last standing pillar of what we were.
I know you long to be free.
Your condition seeping through the screen,
Reaching and pulling at the space between,
White, ghastly hands gripping fragile plastic,
Crushing it beneath their pressure, dragging themselves further beyond their domain.
I sit and watch, and out of the daydream, I realize you've not moved once.
~
(1 Attached File)
Maybe.
I am too afraid to open it.
Too afraid to relinquish the comfortable control the past has over me.
(1 Attached File)
Maybe.
I could click it and look away.
That tactile satisfaction satiating every craving to just open this rusted memory.
(1 Attached File)
Maybe.
I'll face it with a chipper smile.
I'll put my best foot forward, look, inspect you, and then put you away again.
(1 Attached File)
~
Like a passing billboard as you skate by on the highway, you see it once, and then it slowly fades into memory.
This, too, will fade into my memory at some future point.
Like a timestamp imprinting, a love unrequited, I will keep it marked forever.
However, at a certain point, it will rust over.
Tools under the laundry room sink sit crusted down to their hafts.
This, too, shall rust to the haft.
"It's just a photo," I posed when that cerebral tickle no sooner arose from the back of my neck.
My synapses fire back and forth through group therapy and speed counseling.
The abandonment of an idea, the isolation, and separation from this thought.
The thought that I may be able to face that one (1) attachment.
Am I foolish or mourning, wishing I could just see you one more time?
It's sad to know that I'll never know you like I did before.
An endless distance between us, growing wider between each word left unsaid.
A breath so resonant that it rings in my ears and still does.
My ears tune to the sound and the pitch as you vibrate the drums.
They bleed, and I lose my hearing, but even when I can't hear that breath anymore-
I know you're still waiting behind that one (1) attachment.
Always just waiting.
~
(1 Attached File)
Finally.
I've reached the falling action.
(1 Attached File)
Finally.
I've resolved to fix the conflict.
(1 Attached File)
Finally.
I can let you out.
(1 Attached File)
~
I move the mouse and hover over the button as if holding onto some strange hesitation.
I become human momentarily, vulnerable and open, helpless and culpable for letting you fade out of my mind.
How dishonorable of me to let you fade into a locked room where the resounding echo is your name, voice, and never you.
To keep you locked in place, forced to endure forever until I free you and remember.
Like the gate at Villa Cipressi, I part the doors from their longstanding connection;
creating a space for your access.
I double-click your prison as if the fear once ever-present no longer pervades inside of me.
I see you there, smiling with happiness at what we've long since lost, a reminder, no doubt, that you planned for me.
I'll recall the exact moment you smiled; no other detail withstands the test of time, and you're finally freed.
Your smile mutates, and my room grows dark.
I can't move as my window slowly creaks open. I know you need two hands to open it.
I know they're not yours.
Your gentle hands grab me by the throat; I know this was your intention; I know there is no way out of this alive.
Goaded by grief, my heart has exploded so deep within me; a picture so beautiful, so devoid of everything but joy, a joy I no longer possess.
I watch as my screen illuminates brighter; our last memory- your last stand against me- fades into the white of a new document.
Slowly, typed out in Copperplate Gothic;
"I never wanted this, I'm sorry."
I understand what you mean, as I can no longer control the pace and am led to the window.
Your voice is bouncing off the walls, and it is unintelligible to me now, not that it matters anymore.
I'm letting this memory die- you're letting that memory die.
That (1) attached file, that one fragmented memory I still hold on to.
It was never worth exploring; I should've let you go long ago, but I was never ready, and you were always waiting.
That cerebral tickle returns in a wave passing over my brain, the wrinkles moving violently in my head, my scalp itching, and my body halfway out the window now.
This, too, is a timestamp in time, a marked moment lasting forever, at least for you anyway.
I hope you watch me as I fall. I hope you watch and return calmly to your prison, guilty of this crime, though your hands were never involved.
It was always my own.
~
The room resets.
Nothing happened here.
The file was never opened.
No one lived to relive old lives.
The screen reads:
(1 Attached File)
All is as it should be.
Memoriae mortem honorabilem moriantur.
(Let memories die honorable deaths.)
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