2004-03-19

A feeling unable to be articulated

As the sun set this late afternoon, I went about picking white orchids from the tree in front of my house. My room is now filled with yellow daisies, white orchids, and a red rose that sits on top of my desk. Has beauty ever been so sophisticated? So satisfying?

The red rose looks so alive--a gift from my mother...

I still remember, about five years ago, sitting on a swing gazing at the yachts float on the bay. I sat cross-legged on the bench as my face became damp with tears--through my pain I was still able to appreciate such an exquisite afternoon.

I always remember the painful moments...five years later, and my half-brother still has cancer. I was thinking about him again the other day...

"My brother?" I kept whispering...

Black curls dancing about wrapped up in ribbons, my small hands wrapped inside of his...

"Don't wander off, dad'll be here soon." he used to say...

I was pretty young--about five, I would say...but I remember everything. Striking, odd, and quaint--such is our resemblence. Same grin, same eyes, same hair, same temperament...despite the fact that we're only half-siblings.

Then why do I think about him so much? Perhaps it's because I know that there is nothing more that can be done--desperate...stand on that white cliff of sandy nothingness and let yourself fall.

I wouldn't know what to tell you. I can see you walk into a room, and with your presence, make every object glow...yet I couldn't articulate this. It's all implied, I suppose. Perhaps you already know that I love you...or maybe you don't.

I don't believe in intuition, but I sit down right now and a thousand emotions flood through. Pain inside my throat, inside my heart, burning tears in my eyes. Something's wrong, but I don't know. Complete asphyxiation, left in the dark world of uncertainty...let me have a glass of wine to numb my soul and dry my tears, but it won't change anything--you're still sick.

But I still can't say it...you can't die, I refuse to believe it. You're supposed to stay here--no, no, no, no! Death is unlikely, unheard of...like me, you are supposed to be immortal.

I see you, I speak to you...first reaction: my soul shrinks and I become that five-year-old child who used to hop and skip around you, tug at your shirt...I heave a sigh, and I feel a knot in my throat.

All life is suffering, I suppose...

aeka at 6:45 p.m.