Give me a minute

How did we end up here is beyond me. I once hated him. Or so I thought. I knew there was a feeling there that made me erratic and anxious to the point that my chest hurted. I thought I hated him because that is the natural reaction to someone’s bullying and dismissal. I thought I hated him because there was no other feeling to have in such a situation. I hated him because there was no reason for his behaviour but pure and absolute hate towards me; and so, I hated him.

Time has passed and I wished it would be more time so our relationship would be ridiculously justified by the passing of the years, as if all that time would say: things have changed. But the truth is that in a short period of time the feelings remain the same though we might not call it hate. I still feel erratic and anxious, and my chest still hurts, for him.

My dad is holding my hand the best he can, he is as nervous as I am but at least he is not shaking. I am dressed in white, pretty flowers in hand and traditions and superstitions hang on my body. My best friend is a few feet ahead of me, talking to the children and somewhere further away is him.

I take one step forward. Another. One more. Another one. Countless more. And I feel his hand on mine, I see a little glow in his eyes and a gulp down his throat. This is a moment in life and last night, when we were apart, we promised that we cheriss this moment for the rest of our lives, no matter what, this minute counts.

I feel his hand slowly, deliberately caressing my skin from my hand to my waist. My pulse in raicing and I don’t understand what he’s doing, but if this is what he wants, me, his bride, won’t say no. He takes half a step closer and pushes me to meet him halfway. He presses his forehead to mine and breaths happily. I look up at him and quickly wipe that traitor tear and smile at him. His traveling and active hands take my face in warm embrace and he gets close enough that only me can listen him whispering “give me just a minute”.

Like that, memories flood me of all the times that he has said that, and right know the meaning is more evident to me than ever before. He said it before our first I love you. Struggling with his speech, he just took a deep breath looked me in the eye as he hold me close. After a minute of feeling us, there was no need to say it but he still did it.

Before I met his dad, he hold me safely in his arms and said “I’m here, you can have a minute”.

When we told the world about our love we fought the painful shock and surprise as best as we could. By the time we got to the cab hand by hand and sat, he said “I think I need a minute, love” and so I crawled to his lap and hold him tight.

Now, on the day of our union, if he wants me to be close, connected, being one with him, that I give to him. I give him all my minutes.

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Better than silence – In the rain on a day when it poured down on me

Pluuff!!
Loud the chair hit the floor. And so did I. My legs were unnaturaly facing north, chest up and down as it struggled to breath in the sock, pain and embarrasment. This was one of those things were if it is going to happen, is going to be in a crowded place, like now, and as noticeably as possible, like now.
I stayed there waiting for a helping hand, a soul crashing reaction or for me to be effectively swallowed, along with my chair of course, by the artificial ground. But none of it happened. Just silence. Many stares and silence.

Yay, I’m back!!! I just finished an exam and it wasn’t good may sweet lord Wordsworth forgive me for incorrectly analysing his poem and so I needed to cheer up.
I woke up this morning to a weirdly quiet house and thought about how awful it is when you fall or do something embarrasing in front of everyone (like showing up naked 😍) and wondered if there is anything more painful than the laughs that follow. Silence. I think silence is worst than any word. When someone ignores you, when you cry and there are no worths of comfort, when something happens and you get no explanations, when you say i love you and you don’t get an i live you too, when you are trying to reach that person but you cannot anymore. Gosh, let me laugh noisily, soundly, dramatically, extravagantly, embarrasingly, obnoxiously. Let me laugh and kill silence.

Floure

Two armies

Non-discriminatory pity for all those involved in fighting.
I stumbled across this quote (all due credit to my professor) revising for my exam on Wednesday yep two days to go and I still find gems like that one in my notes of Stephen Spender’s poem Two Armies.
It is a wonderful quote, innit? Is meaningful, strong and concise, all that is needed to say in just the most elementary words yet still hits you like a convoy.
I am not going to dwell in the topic, but one recommendation I got from my revising:

image

if you don’t care about the sides but the human losses on a conflict and like some poetry, try this fella Stephen Spender.

Picture credit

Floure

I saw it, I cried

It came to me in a rush while I was sitting in a bus on my way to life. The bus crashing and an object of unknown origin perforated my lung. I could not breath but I still could feel my body elevating and falling hard somewhere else, bruising my ribs, and then at the sound of the bell, my head hit the ground and my consciousness left me scared and alone. Next thing, I was in unsufferable pain and doctors were unsure if I could make it.

And a tear crossed my sorrowful face, not for fear of death but for the fact that at 21 I was, indeed, dreaming of my dying.

Floure