By Ali
Date: 2007 Dec 06
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the way it breathes

I could romanticize the wreckage, but what would be the fun in that?  Smoke is still smoke, whether it comes from a birthday candle, electric sheets, or the skeleton of a charred heart.  Just don't start poking around the ashes with a stick, or kicking them with your foot--because that's where trouble saunters in and takes you by complete surprise.  There's still life in the remnants of that fire, even when you fail to see it, perhaps especially then.  But I won't document the details; those secrets, you must discover for yourself.

It's amazing the things I learn if I remember to pay attention.  The signs, they're all there, casually careful clues out of some Sherlock Holmes tale (I would, of course, title the story, except that you already know it-- the ins and outs, the way it breathes).  Funny, how I seemed to miss every tell-tale insecurity, every leaping lie of a reason that offered something other than a beautiful truth.  It's funny in a way that splits the silence with a sound that only the heart knows how to make.  This time...this time it's much more than loss.  I could explain it, but I don't think it will matter.  If you don't feel it, you can't even begin to believe it.

So I no longer have what I never had, but always knew that I wanted.  You weren't an easy desire, or a casual trip down a vastly haunted memory lane.  Rarely do I choose what is simply or easy.  And it all ended in a repeating scene of untarnished silence--a cruel clash of the past with the present.  There was no convenient display of an easy truth, or of any solid truth at all.  Instead, it's multiple reflections in a world of broken glass.  Just don't get too close, love.  If you get too close, and you stare too hard, it'll completely ruin the illusion.