Arcadia

86

Love,

I am here. Here the evening falls softly on blue walls that are soft still and waiting. Waiting for you, for me, for words that wait to become one's own. A blue room with a window and a patchwork quilt, the cold December air, numb toes, sad love and a dying world outside.

Come here, love. Sing to me, sing to me about sadness and about love and happy times, we will lie side by side under the window and watch the shadows dance across the walls. We will watch the evening fall and count all the places where your skin touches mine.

There is a water stain in this corner that looks a little like your face, I think. I forget your face, sometimes, I don't remember seeing you. I don't remember, sometimes I think I dreamt you all up. I think I dreamt the whole world up and that is why my skin never feels real.

Love, come here. I promise I will remember this time, I'll forget everything but I could never forget the taste of you in my mouth.

Someday, I will write you in the poem that I promised.