It all started with a doubt. Who could have known that you and I would last this long? Decades into our story, we finally sit down to draft our will & testament due diligence documents, the penultimate act before death. This is how much we mean to each other.
So many years of our souls aiming to connect have brought down so many false starts, jealousy, reflected anger... Why were we angry? Seems to me as if we both don't care anymore.
All the parts between us took years to assemble. When I lie on my bed, I can smell the dark cherry and amber scent of many nights holding each other. Disparate articles of clothing, such as your Tommy Bahama shirts and my Dior sleepwear; my Alexander McQueen pendant and your Quicksilver shorts; the Armani Exchange sportswear I prefer and your vintage New Balance trainers have finally merged at the foot of our bed.
The only way for our relationship to be final is that you should die first. It is with much tenderness that I shall lay you soon, when I know how to end you.
© Text: Orlando Barahona
© Image by: Wayne S. Grazio/Flickr
Creative Commons License This work by Orlando Barahona is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-NonCommercial-NoDerivatives 4.0 International License.
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Kyle, there are many ways to interpret how I feel about you. The one that matters to me happens when I am alone, and everything about us becomes a paragon of docile existence, as if we were a real couple. It's possible that we are better than that. We always were.
You said to me once that you would never survive my death. Yours? Possible to survive, knowing I will meet you, when it's all over. What if Death is as final as many think it is? Have we been wrong all our lives?
I don't care that you are fading away, and that I have no recourse, no hope. May you spare me the rite of the last words, because I wish to knock on your door just down the hallway. Let me in.
Come to me and close my eyes to the upcoming terror that awaits us. Hold me, I need it. Until I meet you again, my friend, my lover, My Kyle.
© Text: Orlando Barahona
© Image: Josh/Flickr
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I begin this entry with a smile. Nothing in particular caused me to flaunt writing it. Perhaps I'm happy? Similar smiles from all around me with full intention make history and a cold ice cream cone is all I need now.
The sand below, the tide of the Pacific Ocean, and my joy under all the loving stars above form a haphazard trail along this beach, baby. Walking demurely, you nod to me.
So, we had a party on the beach. Your friends came, but none of mine sat down at the table. The frost in their looks turned beautiful enough to melt with my charm. The stares were enough to use as daggers into snow. Never worry, my love. I don't care anymore about their snobbery and contempt. Let's kiss later.
© Text: Orlando Barahona
© Image: Tony Alter/Flickr
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