The Little Things

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He fell in love with the little things,
Like the way I lived Life out of timing.
He’d smile approvingly,
Every time I wore Madras earrings in June,
Or spent mornings chasing the Moon.
His eyes sparkled watching me
hang Christmas lights in May.
Or read bedtime stories in the middle of the day.

He adored the way I had no sense of place.
We’d spend hours lying among seashells on the kitchen floor,
Palm fronds delicately tickling our backs.
He’d hold me close & inhale the scent of coconuts in my hair,
whispering a love as vast & deep as the Ocean in my ear.
He said he loved coming home to me.
Because Wednesday could become dinner in Venice,
& Thursday we might make love in Greece.

There were nights when I cried for no reason,
& he’d quietly hold my hand in the dark for hours.
Because he knew I feared mornings,
he stayed up & laid dark plastic over every window pane.
He complied when I wanted to sleep on the roof in the rain.
His lips would trace the raindrops on my stomach
& whisper, “compose a song from the pain in your soul,
Because your voice makes me forget the cold.”

He loved me even when he had to drag me out of bed.
Even when I made him late for work everyday,
Because I’d cry hysterically & beg him not to leave me.
He’d hold me close when we walked down the street,
& I wore my little black dress & bedroom slippers on my feet.
He said he enjoyed the adventure I brought.
When I’d run away at 3 am. with nowhere to go,
& he’d drive for hours… in search of my shadow.

He used to smile & kiss my cheek when
I couldn’t remember the little things. He’d say,
“We’ll spend the rest of our lives rewriting
the blank spaces in your memory.”
I’d choke back tears & ask timidly,
But what happens when I can’t remember to love you?
“Then we’ll love as hard as we can until….
& even then I’ll love you still.”

& He loved me until..
Until the day he came home & ripped out the Christmas lights
& hung clocks on every wall.
Calendars quickly replaced palm trees,
while my nights became locked doors & hidden keys.
For the first time I cried alone.
For the first time he left for work on time,
Then came home & tore down every fantasy of mine.

The little things make him angry.
So he spends his days mad at me for
reasons I’m too afraid to remember.
I spend mine frantically screaming & clawing at the latch,
Because he refuses to take me for walks if my clothes don’t match.
Out of sheer cruelty he rips open the drapes
& watches me cringe at the sun, begging for darkened nights.
When the sun finally sets, he smiles & turns on the lights.

The lips that once painted my skin are stained with hate.
The hands that used to inspire rhythm in my body
squeeze the poetry out of my throat.
& when I sing along to the melodies in my head,
His fists pound their own solo until the choir of angels are dead.
There was a time when we were my refuge.
Now we are the prison where a nightmare resides.
Our love is a fountain where my poison hides.

Amanie.
July 5th, 2015.

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4 thoughts on “The Little Things

  1. This is quite exceptional Amanie! You really played with the extremities of emotions there. 🙂 Keep up the great work!

    Very best,
    Angad

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