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Valentine Valentine
by Abigail George
2019-02-18 07:27:29
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(for Ambronese)

   The mirror takes a look at my face.

    The face that flinched when you wanted to hit
me. I smile. I smile. I smile (think of autumn) because it
    makes it better. It hides the sadness
    (look at what you have done to me)

    that you bring out in me. You wound me.
    You hurt me. You don’t see my tears. I’m writing to reach you. Winter
suumm01_400    in my veins. Night falls. Stars are pasted
    in the ceiling of the sky. Day breaks. You’re
    not here in this game of love. You’re a million miles and an international flight
away. You’re in Prague. Then Austria. Then Budapest-country. Then
   Slovenia. I lose track. You never call.

   You’re too busy tramping up streets.
    Sashaying down streets. Living. Walking. Eating.
    Drinking bottled European beer. Posting
    pictures on social media. Your trips were
    always epic. I’m left writing to reach you.
    Surrounded by lions, elephants and tigers.
Rudyard Kipling’s The Jungle Book come to life. We’ve

    both come to know how love can hurt.
    I’m becoming enlightened daily by our brother’s son.
    I see that we’re not close anymore. Whose
    at fault. I blame our mother. The different
    school’s we went to. You, of course, had friends
    who played hockey and were blonde. You
    wear blonde highlights in your hair now.
    Now I see a vision of you. This vision passes.
    I think of you with longing in my heart.  One day we won’t be
    young anymore. We won’t have our mother
    to protect us. You live in another world.
    I live in another universe. It feels like death.
    Feels like mourning this distance between
    us. I think of your shadow. Your shadow stepping out
amongst the shadows of other beautiful women.
I think of illumination. Your illumination (and my trembling heart).
    I think of Sundays and ochre. I think of Sundays
    and golden afternoons. I marvel that once
    you belonged to me. Now you’re cold and
    distant and you turn away from me. The
    status of our relationship is sad. Has become
    like a waterfall of kissing a dream goodbye.
    I wanted to write a sonnet but I wrote this for you instead. And I try not to think of
    the night, and all the sad men you kissed.

Abigail George has two books in the Ovi Bookshelves,
"All about my mother" & "Brother Wolf and Sister Wren"
Download them, NOW for FREE HERE!


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