this is about you
dancing between the trees
running through an endless corridor
dreaming silently in abandoned airports
maybe these silhouettes of happiness will forever meander somewhere in my memory


i can’t always seem to spot them.


my thoughts are rarely this clear and never this fluid. so i’ll admit, sometimes i think of you. but only as a hushed confession. a lost language. a great Greek tragedy. maybe a symbol is easier than personification.

easier to pretend that my tepid excuses will lead to a chaptered ending.
easier to continue this recursive pattern, a selfish yet necessary compulsion. maybe those are both just words written on the same page.

anyway, i’m rambling.
the ocean was what made me think of you. it always seems to.

because you are endless, insatiable, always rising and falling, most potent in the moonlight
because you were the first and the last. the passion and the loss. the hunger and the rain. the meadow. the Orchids.

you aren’t real
i know this

but still      i believe that i can manifest meaning from these chance encounters with you. ululating within my songs, desperately trying to describe you. yet monotony always sets in…and the reasons get lost.

but still…in that frozen moment when you enter the scene,
i, the method actor, fake a vain trite smile.
really i’m blushing at my seams. defying my instincts. or maybe finally embracing them.

the ring on your finger
the drink in your glass
the clothes on your floor
the tears in your eyes
the bruises on your chest
the piercing you never showed me
the names you always called me

the things we never talked about

sometimes this seems like a terrible dream. not a nightmare exactly. just a memory too faded to be real, haunting the in-between spaces of my day.

maybe i’m dramatic
maybe you’re still naive
maybe this is the last thing i’ll ever write and i’d feel        fine.



(nha trang, vietnam)



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About Eric Skelton