something like memoirs

[benjaminbentley]

Bury me in spring, frost has left by then.

b.b

[benjaminbentley]

So came the evening where see you later became goodbye, how was work became is this yours as we, one piece after another, began picking apart a puzzle that had grown mismatched incomplete beyond mending; as all good puzzles teach us, starting over might be fine.

b.b

[benjaminbentley]

And there it goes again, that little heart of mine I once treasured so yet with time found myself handing out as if a cluster of grapes free to be picked apart by hands that never quite settled for less ; is my heartache to your taste?

b.b

[benjaminbentley]

for it was when falling stars turned from i wish to i beg i came to realize my childhood had come and gone.

b.b

[benjaminbentley]

These walls are painted in the hues of a life where an “us” has taken form through Polaroids and way too long curtains;      (scattered clothes,       messy sheets,       sweaty palms       you on me) reaching to the floor where our souls embark on journeys found among star-crossed lovers in between cracks of a wooden floor.

on star-crossed lovers formed in an old living room / b.b

[benjaminbentley]

"You seem to do so much better

with me"

but who is negligent enough

to leave knives,

broken glass,

shattered bottles

on the floor for concerned steps to meet

in dim evening rooms

and street lit corners?

"You seem happier"

because my recovery has sped up

after leaving additional luggage

behind

at borders of apathy

and hurt.

b.b

[benjaminbentley]

It goes without saying that I’m a little broken.

Tip-toeing, early mornings. Careful, always on the lookout.

It goes without saying that I’m a little broken, but held together by the gold spewed by those who take the time needed.

Heartfelt, gentle words. Patient, long silences.

It goes without saying that I’m a little broken, yet on the pathway  of recovery in the caring grasp  of someone who knows.

b.b

[benjaminbentley]

     On loving a soul whose luggage has turned to restless nights, shaky hands and mismatched laughter.

     You are going to regret it. You are going to love it. You are going to love regretting it. You are going to regret loving it. 

     Most of all love it, for the regrets that were there before you have left deep tracks that outdo your own feet, allowing themselves to collapse around you if you dare to step too close; love it, love it all, every dreadful minute and every passing hour where you question your belief, for it is the only way through. 

     Love it. 

     Never regret it. 

     Count the days where your hours cross one another, rain on grass, no longer moon and sun. Write them inside your palm, kiss it close and love those scribbled lines, cradle them against your heart and count, keep counting; it is the only way you’re gonna get through.

     And when those days pass, count again. Wave hello as you pass one another into the night which breaks into morning, greet one another with quick kisses and clumsy touches, allow hellos to be good-nights and good-nights to become hellos. This is reality and it has you by the back the neck, face up to the fact that you are human, you are no cure, you are only a lover whose heart willingly sets itself on fire to keep somebody else warm. You are a totem, ready to guide those who are lost, all despite never having returned home yourself; leave a candle out in the open, make sure to bring yourself back, too, for what is a guide without a home on their own but someone whose luggage has fallen open, too? 

     Carry that luggage.

     Sweep the remains into your hands, pick it up, carry it along as you chase your moon across the endless globe. Count the days, hold on tight, for this is how you love a soul whose luggage has turned to restless nights, shaky hands and mismatched laughter. 

      You are going to regret it. You are going to love it. You are going to love regretting it. You are going to regret loving it; but it’s all worth a try.

A memoir, b.b

[benjaminbentley]

The day you dare to hold me be gentle, for my edges are broken glass ready to jab at every approaching caress, at every gentle touch, at every sweet gesture that mean so well.

The day you are to kiss me hold your breath, for within there is a void so deep and so cold that my heart will collapse on itself at the faintest chance of air of love of you.

The day you dare to love me, remind me to apologize for all the damage I will do.

b.b

[benjaminbentley]

Suffocating, I find myself reaching for stars that flicker at the sight of my outstretched fingers desperately  looking for signs as to whether there will ever be a rising sun.

b.b

[benjaminbentley]

You are so important to me, the way you smile and how it stretches across the room, sinks into my skin and bring out the same energy that you offer in a smudged reflection only you see.

You are so important to me, the way you laugh in early morning hours still untainted by the sweet scent of caffeine that spreads as we talk for hours that suddenly come to feel like minutes.

You are so important to me, the way we fit, sky and clouds, sun and flower, wind and sea; good in our great, great in our bad, a match made in chance.

- b.b

[benjaminbentley]

And I loved you recklessly, my devotion a soldier heading out to war, heart in its hands, as its every beat was to be sent out like grenades fighting for the greater good;

You.

( --- not all soldiers come home )

[benjaminbentley]

in case you ever wondered; i am here.

in case you ever doubted this beating heart singing for you; listen, closely, it hums for you.

the thumps within are hymns spelling out your name on repeat; again, again, agai; because i can’t sleep with you; again, again, again --- chanting your name in a holy prayer.

it beats for you, it beats for you.

a remedy, i linger in your presence like drops on a window hope racing logic down to the rotting sill; morning breaks, neither wins for both is wiped clean the second you stroll out.

in case you ever wondered; i am here, in case you come around.

morning looks so good on you / i wish i got to spend it with you . b.b

[benjaminbentley]

We would lock our fingers and call each other ‘mine’ with such playful smiles and fiery hearts; where did the past go in the wave of the present?

We would lock our fingers and tell the world to look away with nothing but our stolen glances in a time we didn’t grasp; when did our hope fall from its highest belief?

We would lock our fingers and swear holy matrimony in ancient hallways stained with the past  memories of the silent souls who loved so hard that they dared no to understand it; how did we let each other go?

We would lock our fingers; why did we stop?

pinky promise / b.b

[benjaminbentley]

your smile breathes life into the pieces of me that i deemed dead a long time ago;             like sun to ice, you shape my soul like a continent, breaking under the warmth that you emit.

a joy to live,          i live to thrive in the warmth you have to offer  in this shallow, tepid january bed.

x, b.b

[benjaminbentley]

and you are going to hold him so tenderly in these loving hands of yours; not because he is fragile but because he is strong, so strong that he needs to let someone in.

and you are going to touch him so lovingly with these diffident fingers of yours; gently they will glide across that blemished skin that has shielded him for far too long.

and you are going to ache to kiss him, for in the end he is not yours to save, to salvage, to protect, nor to love;

but you are still going to touch him, hold him, adore him with these trusty hands that won’t reject.

and you’re going to love him, even when he doesn’t love you back / b.b

[benjaminbentley]

Like berries on straw you thread red hearts onto sharp grass; one, two, three as young love should be

berries / b.b