Plaster figure of a man
May. 1st, 2005 05:00 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
zalenaLooking more closely at the bookshelf I bought last week, I don't know if I'm going to be able to stack it as easily as I had hoped. Pooh! I was hoping to purchase a new unit each paycheck until I finally had enough shelves.
How come everytime I go to clean house, I end up making a bigger mess and becoming mired in memories? I guess it's because I haven't truly finibshed unpacking everything that was in storage yet; and I haven't found a place for everything; and I'm at a point where I'm re-examining everything from a totally different point of view.
I found the box of Jason #3 today. It has a hilarious and bitter Amy Lowell poem at the top, A Communication from Ballads for Sale. Goodness knows how I found Amy Lowell at that stage, but it was the perfect poem, once I'd finally decided to put him away.
In future I shall see you as you are:
A plaster figure of a man that's grown a little dusty.
We all have knick-knacks round which once meant something.
It is rather a wrench to take them from their niches,
But life goes on, imperious, and bric-a-brac accumulates.
Still, because I cherished you once, I will not throw you away just yet.
I will put you on an upper shelf in the pantry of my mind,
Among old flower-vases I no longer use, being of a bygone fashion.
It may interest you to know that the place you occupied
Looks a little strange to me without you,
But that, of course, will pass.
I can't explain how our romance fell apart except it involved distance, inexperience, miscommunication, and betrayal. Now that I am older and wiser I've come to believe that I wasn't the only woman he was involved with at the time. But part of me is very glad I kept our letters, because the woman scorned has asked all these years, "How could I have been deceived?" But when I see our letters it is clear that if it was deception, it gave every appearance of love.
I didn't take time to read the letters today. Quite frankly, I don't want to; I'd rather think about adventures in my future than disasters in my past, but closing up the box I remember he used to say, "You are the roar in my paper tiger."
After so many years, there are so few ways to say one is beautiful or loved that haven't been said before. The thrill of it never goes away when hearing it for the first time again, but the memory of it fades once a lover is over. What I remember about Jason #3 is not that he said he loved me, but that he thought I was so genuine. That's a gift that stays, even once the love is lost and the lover has gone away.
How come everytime I go to clean house, I end up making a bigger mess and becoming mired in memories? I guess it's because I haven't truly finibshed unpacking everything that was in storage yet; and I haven't found a place for everything; and I'm at a point where I'm re-examining everything from a totally different point of view.
I found the box of Jason #3 today. It has a hilarious and bitter Amy Lowell poem at the top, A Communication from Ballads for Sale. Goodness knows how I found Amy Lowell at that stage, but it was the perfect poem, once I'd finally decided to put him away.
In future I shall see you as you are:
A plaster figure of a man that's grown a little dusty.
We all have knick-knacks round which once meant something.
It is rather a wrench to take them from their niches,
But life goes on, imperious, and bric-a-brac accumulates.
Still, because I cherished you once, I will not throw you away just yet.
I will put you on an upper shelf in the pantry of my mind,
Among old flower-vases I no longer use, being of a bygone fashion.
It may interest you to know that the place you occupied
Looks a little strange to me without you,
But that, of course, will pass.
I can't explain how our romance fell apart except it involved distance, inexperience, miscommunication, and betrayal. Now that I am older and wiser I've come to believe that I wasn't the only woman he was involved with at the time. But part of me is very glad I kept our letters, because the woman scorned has asked all these years, "How could I have been deceived?" But when I see our letters it is clear that if it was deception, it gave every appearance of love.
I didn't take time to read the letters today. Quite frankly, I don't want to; I'd rather think about adventures in my future than disasters in my past, but closing up the box I remember he used to say, "You are the roar in my paper tiger."
After so many years, there are so few ways to say one is beautiful or loved that haven't been said before. The thrill of it never goes away when hearing it for the first time again, but the memory of it fades once a lover is over. What I remember about Jason #3 is not that he said he loved me, but that he thought I was so genuine. That's a gift that stays, even once the love is lost and the lover has gone away.
