The Art Of Perception

20:07 

There is nothing like seeing the damage other people caused in you. 

- Beats

I call to him with the 

tip of my tongue

and the sound 

of a million 

butterfly wings 

drowned out the steps

he takes towards me. 

I swallow rehearsed lines 

and stand still, wait, 

B r e a t h e. S i g h. 

His smell reaches me

before he does 

reminding me 

of mornings just 

before dreams fade.

But I listen to the 

sound he makes

with the soles 

of his shoes; 

those even steps

that match the beat

of this heart 

he will never

know he owns. 

- Watching Us Watch Them

The Proposal

Butterfly Wings

The sound of a thousand butterfly wings drowned out the sound of his steps toward me. I swallow rehearsed lines and they sink into the ocean of my regrets. His eyes reach me before his smell does, the smell that lingers after every dream. I smile my best smile; a full set of teeth, eyes wide and shining. And as I lick my lips with the tip of my tongue and find the words to complete this moment, this very memory that we exist in, he stands in front of me, hands hidden in pockets and tells me “It’s over.”

30.12.2011

He watches

only me, with

wide eyes and 

heavy breathing 

disturbing the stillness

that calms the red night

dancing, outside his window

I sing a note in black. 

Close my eyes

lick my lips and

stand on the very tips

of my shaky toes 

teaching him my melody. 

But old wounds make sour

notes. I rock to them 

singing blue yesterdays 

- and he sings

back to me in the

same dark blue

coloring the walls

of the world we create.

Chasing rainbow hues

undressed words 

linger as he exhales 

in green calming this 

heartbeat that belongs to 

me. And I give him 

Nothing. Nothing but  

my notes in the colour black 

And he whispers 

something like yellow 

and tells me

I’m gold. 

01:08

Every time a heart is broken a poet is born. 

The Hotel Room Part Three

I expected something like a hurricane so it surprised me that it crawled effortlessly across my shoulders and dripped down my back. I lay still for a while, afraid to open my eyes, listing minutes but ignoring the hours until time disappeared, erasing morning and giving me night. Eventually I opened them and inhaled stale air, pulled the covers back and sat up on the edge of the bed. I sighed then, listening to the rhythm my heart made and I smiled a little, it felt normal, felt familiar. I stepped over damp clothes and the contents of my unpacked bags, down the carpeted steps until I stood on the last one, where we sat hours ago, the truth stuttering on my lips. I still expected to see him sitting there, head in his hands, tears on his face but the steps were empty now and the door, the one to the living room was closed shut. 

I had rushed home, skipped traffic and travelled by tube; tongue numb, heart racing and my mind skipping over alibis that would fit my crimes. I’d sat on that bed in the hotel room and watched the door, waiting for the handle to turn down and black shoes to enter carrying an older, richer version of my husband: suit, tie, briefcase, luggage maybe. But I knew this time was different the minutes stretched into a full hour so I took my phone out of my pocket and dialed a number from memory. My husband answered. He sounded younger, sweet tones, low pitch. I sat on the bed in the hotel room waiting for my father-in-law, making dinner plans with my husband. I heard his Mother in the background calling for his attention, I heard the smile in his voice

“Listen, I’ve got to go Dad’s just walked in and Mum’s calling me, she’s got something to tell us. Shouldn’t take long. Call me when you’re done with your meeting.”  I didn’t think of it then. I checked my watch. Time. Messages. His text said today at this time, our usual place. I pushed my feet back into my shoes, played with my wedding band with the tips of my fingers and then my phone vibrated, the message from the Mother-In-Law: ‘I told him.” 

I didn’t swallow.  

I avoided traffic and jumped on the tube. Kings Cross in rush hour squashed hot bodies together while Britishness politely struggled for space and I was sure everybody could tell; I couldn’t keep my eyes still, my mind continued to plot. With each stop my mind changed, I didn’t know what he knew, didn’t know if she just sent the message to fuck with me. I just hoped she kept her mouth shut. She hated me - I knew that. 

I stood outside Highbury station and tempted fate, dialed his number and listened to rings until his voicemail kicked in. The light on my phone faded and I stood there, feet tapping, breathing not thinking. I dialed again, a different number, the one for his parents house and the wrong he answered

“Nina. I don’t think you should call here. Angela, she went crazy, she -”

“Is that the whore on the phone? You couldn’t wait? You had to call her now? You can tell her she’s not welcome here. Tell her Andrew, we don’t want her here!” She shouted from the background but I heard it, on the very tip of every word - happiness.

“He’s gone. He went home.” The line went dead. 

I got to our front door, keys in my hand and they shook, announced my presence before I could wet my lips and take a deep breath. Scenarios with permanent consequences danced in front of my eyes. I shook my body from my shoulders down to my knees then pushed the key into the door and stepped over our threshold. 

He sat on the steps with his coat on: trainers, jumper, jeans, head in his hands. I watched him take his hands away and put them on his knees, rubbing them roughly, his eyes didn’t meet mine. 

Deep breaths. Deeper breaths. 

“My Dad?” I nodded. It was only then he looked at me: Dress. Boots. Tights. Hair down. Make-up. Lips dry. My hands reached inside my pockets trying to hide as they flexed and balled. He didn’t say anything, I didn’t offer more and I almost sighed, criticised myself for being so dramatic but his eyes told me differently, he lowered them, put his head in the cradle of his hands and rocked slightly. Time ticked on in silence. My back to the front door. My husband facing me. But no one said anything and the truth; it began to strangle me. He had said sometime ago that he hated to see me cry, it hurt him he said, melted the corners of his heart. I pushed fresh tears down my face, let them tip toe over my cheeks and sniffed a little too loudly, caught his attention and his bloodshot eyes met mine then, his jaw stayed firm. 

“When did it start? Did he come on to you? Did he say something? Do something?” The truth scratched as it climbed up my throat, blocking air and I needed words. I shook my head instead, looked down at my shoes, 

“So what happened? ‘Cos he must have said something. You didn’t go there to just talk, Mum said … you obviously did something, you did, didn’t you?” I nodded again. The tears in his eyes stung me.  His voice came as a whisper at first and I wanted him to repeat what he said, to say it louder, sound out the letters in each and every word, I didn’t have to ask “You’re not the first. You know that right. There was always some girl in the background that Mum had to chase off - but my wife? What? What did he say? Did he tell you he loved you? Were you gonna leave me, run off together? His laugh shrank me. 

“It wasn’t like that.” 

“It was him wasn’t it, this rush you had ‘Daniel, lets get married now, what are we waiting for’, it was him wasn’t it?”

“No.” 

“Couldn’t get at him so you took the next best thing.” 

“No.”

“Keep it in the family. Stay close get closer.”

“No.”

“Bullshit. Bullshit Nina.” His words, laced with truth and anger banged against the small space in the hallway and landed on me, cracked me a little. I looked at him, gave him my eyes and responded to his anger; I offered him my honesty

“It wasn’t like that. I didn’t do it for that. We were struggling and he called me, so I met him … I didn’t want to take it but he offered so I -”

“You took money?”

“Yeah but -”

“You fucked him for money Nina? Really? Who are you? I don’t even know who you are.”

“You know who I am. What was I supposed to do, sit back and watch us go under? He offered so I took it and then it became something. I dunno. I couldn’t just let us lose the house and … what was I supposed to do Daniel, what -”

“You were supposed to faithful Nina. You were supposed to be faithful.” He silenced me with the F word. I took a step back, inhaled thick air and held it in my chest. 

“I’m sorry.” He looked at me and stood, broad shoulders towering over me, the step he stood on adding inches. He adjusted his jeans and walked away from me, left me in the darkness of the hallway, the pockets of my coat empty, hands in my hair. 

The house phone rang, cut the silence and made me jump. The recorded message, both of us sounding like newlyweds: ‘Mr and Mrs Stevens cannot come to the phone right now …’ it played three times, the phone ringing out, the message rolled on automatic. It rang a final time and I knew it was his Mother, ringing to say she told him so. She’d been waiting to say it from the moment she met me, standing on her doorstep, next to her son. Shadows passed the thick glass in our front door while I caught my breath and let it go. I stepped out of my shoes, one at a time, pulled my thick coat off my back and threw it on the floor. Shoulders heavier, I waited, took deep breaths and swallowed, listening for him, listening for tell-tale signs of the damage.  

I pushed the door open. He stood at the window looking out into the garden, his back to me. He didn’t turn but I caught him wiping his eyes in the reflection of the glass. 

“I’m sorry. It wasn’t supposed to be like this.” I took small steps toward him, whispering words, shoulders lower “I just got caught up in it and I didn’t think about what would happen. I’m sorry.” He turned and watched me, feet moving on the spot, lips still. He took two steps towards me and I began to sigh, feeling a little lighter “I didn’t want you to find out like this and your Mum … she found messages or something and she told me but she didn’t give me a chance, she said she would give me a chance to -” He got closer to me, close enough for him to reach out and touch a warm finger to my lips. 

“Is it over?”

“Yes, definitely.” He leaned back and looked at me, took a final step into my space

“I love you”

“I love you too.” And he kissed me, wrapped thick arms around my shaking body and I pushed back, missing minutes and listing moments; his taste familiar, my heart racing to an uneven rhythm. Closed eyes. I was surrounded in darkness and I thought about the mistake I made; being caught with a man that did not belong to me. I could never say it, couldn’t explain the fear of empty pockets, empty cupboards, empty back accounts, quiet tears, long hours, rough hands. I couldn’t be my mother.

“What are you thinking about?” He pulled away and I hadn’t noticed.   

“I dunno, I just …” He tipped his head to the side, looked into my eyes, “Just wondering what happens now, I mean he’s your dad, we’ll have to see him, we’ll have to fix this somehow.” I thought he saw something in my eyes, finally believed me and he reached up to touch my face. It took me a whole three seconds to connect the stinging on my cheek to the hardness of his hand. 

22:34

You were enough and I think I said that a million times but I don’t think you ever heard me. But I understand what you think of yourself is alot louder than anyone else’s perception.