6/3/89

Once, I lived as a statistic, never bothering to polish the gem
That could have been – would have been – should have been
The life I led in my wildest daydreams because they’re so glorious and impossible
We tremble to even think of them
Dreams that were sparked and sparkled while holding your fingers delicately in my palms
Staring into brown eyes that twinkled in a dimly lit room
Flickering remnants of candles that blew out in the wind long ago when I found my Tristan
Eyes filled with tears he'll never admit ever dropped down from azure skies reflected in amber gazes
Gently bestowed on me the way heartbreak sometimes flutters down from above
Grazing you ever so gently on its descent
Whispering soft promises of tender landings on down pillows

And I angrily demanded you drink to me
This ill-fated toast for two amorous lovers
That could never bring themselves to admit they adored each other until death drew them together

Remember
When we foolishly held hands during grade school?
Your hair was self-consciously spiked up perkily as if it was out to prove something to the world
And years later, you'd confess you'd never have taken that chance
Even though we both knew our feelings for each other
A flurry of fury and hatred and spite and … amorous thoughts
You're gone now, maybe forever, but you can still call me Isolde

And if I ever get a chance to speak to you again,
I'd tell you that I want you to grab life like it’s the last breath you’ll ever take and you’re choking
Because it could be the last time you'll ever be able to again
I mean- we only get one chance consciously at this sort of situation
So take advantage of the quiet in the room to finally let it all out

And find the girl that makes your heart stop breathing
And that lump in your throat start beating
That makes you want to recite poetry that puts Shakespeare and Donne to shame
And you’ll know she’s the one
When her face plays music that creates complex melodies that haven’t even been invented yet

Because I found my Helen days ago
When she wrapped her face in streaks of liquid gold
That surrounded mahogany eyes that glowed and glowered in the starriest nights,
Ruddy cheeks, summer's radiant blush
And laughs that pealed in the peaks of auditoriums
But since my feeble mind isn't capable of contemplating her in anything but a rational fashion
I resort to cogitating and comparing her to the most melodic sound waves
Forming perfect harmonies inside of me when she passes by
And grants me a whiff of her scent that sends me to my knees
I’d jump into oceans and swimmingly crusade across endless seas for a glance at her beauty
And I would take her by force like the last chance at life I’ll ever get to live
In the dreams she’s created for me
Gasping and holding onto that refuge;
That safe place she makes in her chest where the heart should be
Sheltering me between bosoms that hid lungs that never knew of sighs or gasps or breathing

And I will not be discreet
I refuse to bury myself metaphorically
Beneath lyrical escapades that hide my emotions from you ever again
So please
Because I know somewhere that you’re listening
Don’t be afraid to take chances you’ll never have again
Because tomorrow you could die in a car crash
The way it happened on May 5th
And every other day and you never even bother to realize
That it could be you
So I refused to title this poem the days of your death
Because this is a celebration of the life you led
That the rest of us could only wish to emulate in our wildest dreams
Chasing after skyscraper worthy intentions
Because metaphorically or literally-

Breathing but not thinking is no worse than a coffin
Being but not living no worse than being underground

And I know, because once, I lived as a statistic
Letting uncut diamonds in the rough slip out of my fingers
Becoming the quicksand numbers entangling our lives together
Digits after the digits grasping our hands
Interlocking fingers calculating statistics on abacuses that could have been our hearts
Dancing around the hopes we never realized
Because they’re so glorious and impossible
That we tremble to even think of them