YOU ARE REALA Poem by kublakhan2711 10 12Our paths have never crossed. I wish I could say that the way it should be said, as a melancholy cliche or a matter-of-fact shrug of words aimed at some distant relative. But our feet have never drank from the same puddled chalices of rain, nor have they swam in the same warm memory-foam sand pools of our respective summers. Even with the same sun, our weather systems seem to mock parallel universes in our varying degrees of Eastern Canada; you in your province near the water, I in my province on the water. But words are free of boundaries; even languages are little more than human road signs. Somehow our words found a way to intertwine amid the infinite map of cyberspace. Somehow we crossed at some intersection of the Internet. No, our paths have never crossed, but our words have made a galaxy uncharted by anyone else we've ever known. You are more real to me than a country or a continent or a solar system. You have found matter in my name. You have said when Fortune knocks you answer. Now that we are well into what is like a sequel of communication in the aftermath of apparent disappearance, I wonder more than ever: what if my feet ultimately met those alien sidewalks and my knuckles met your door. What if I was there to comfort you in person in this time of turbulent emotions and apparent loneliness? Yes, apparent to me when, if we were in each other's shoes, you could read me better than any readers of my words that I can recall. I've always felt an air of imbalance in that level of our shared existence. You can lift me from the darkest of depths with as little as three words: Cheer up smarty, while here I am scrawling frantically an answer like a deadline dash to the sadness that now smothers you like winter wind in the face of your commuting forward. I wish I could put down my pen and clap your cheeks with these hands of mine and kill the frostbite of your despair. Would you thaw beneath the realism of a shared vicinity of smoky breaths? What if your ears were exposed to my voice and your eyes to my presence? It matters to me yet it matters not for you've made yourself real to me in spite of this decade of distance. Yet you wish you were unreal now to spite the sadness that must feel as though it's picking on you; well of course you know me oh so well. I would fight it off like any bully in the flesh, not to be a hero or a knight in shining armour, but to keep you real just to realize how real you are to me when everything about us should suggest otherwise. I have lived against the backdrop of far too many fake existences; I wouldn't feel as real were you not here to tan me with your rays of encouragement over how you know me oh so well when few others do. Our paths have never crossed but our words are tight as human stitches. I don't want a wound to fester in the possibility of your reality departing. I wish I could convince you of how real you are to me even in the figurative absence of presence when so few really know me. I refuse to give up on insistences of not your mere realism but your very presence. Maybe I am taking on an air of selfishness in this emotional constitution I attempt now to preserve like a peace treaty. But urgency has a way of turning on itself; don't mistake my urgency for your life in mine as a simple habit, not after I endangered it for so long with inexplicable indifference. Maybe I assumed I was a chapter that you had to leaf through and progress from like the pages of a bounded book. But, as with any book, most of what is read dissolves, yet there are always pockets of scenes that claim your memory: fictional events that feel more real than the turning of the sun and I fear a day when you'll be off my radar once again. I know you want to be a myth these days but I urge you unabashedly to not become a story. Be the inspiration for a sequel to what we've composed and remain a real life with flesh and blood and comfort even if it can't be be accessed with live eyes like a movie. In spite of all these selfish urges I want you to endure yourself when you feel like fiction is a more viable option. Endure yourself in these times of footnotes and emerge an epic.
© 2012 kublakhan27Author's Note
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StatsAuthorkublakhan27Nova Scotia, CanadaAboutMy first book is out! Any comments that anyone may have to offer regarding my work would be deeply appreciated, as I'm yet to get a review. www.amazon.com/Waltz-Around-Swirls-Steven-Fortune/dp.. more..Writing
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