"I'm Tired But I'm Working..."

[psalm_onethirtyone]

I have been--missing Zara lately. Most of all I have been missing the unexpected magic she kept making, although she probably never thought of it that way.

I remember that the first time I went to see her, she bought me flowers. I got off the train and there she was with flowers, and, I swear, at the time I didn't even know why I was so enchanted; but nobody had ever bought me flowers before.

That was the same trip I made her Danish sweet bread, and we ate it together while watching Hamlet on her bed, and she let me put my head in her lap, and I was so happy.

We always used to go to museums together; we just both loved museums, and once we bought each other tiger's eye and amethyst, and I still have mine. We spent hours exploring Pittsburgh, and even little bits of Harrisburg, and she would always hold my hand, and I love to have my hand held. Nobody holds my hand any more. I used to braid her hair, or put it up with flowers, because it was long and beautiful and breathtaking. Her hair is reddish-brown with more red, and so long. She looks beautiful in green, and I used to make her wear green for me, because it's such a wonderful colour on her.

And she used to send me songs that she said were mine, and I felt beautiful and special when I was with her.

She lived so close by that we got to visit four or five times a year, trading back and forth--I'd stay in her dorm in Pittsburgh, and she'd come and sleep in my room in New Buffalo. She's the first person who ever saw our new home, back when it wasn't even ours, when we were still looking for a place to belong to--she came out and explored it with us, and afterwards we went to the little fifties diner in Freeburg and had smiley fries.

We loved taking photographs of each other, and we acted out whole bits from Hamlet, and we could talk for hours and hours and hours, and she didn't mind when I telephoned her at three in the morning because I was having a hysterical attack (we were friends when I was really, really sick, and I was always having bad problems). I wrote her poetry that she said was good.

I just--miss her a lot. It feels like the particular magic she had is gone out of my life, and things are a little quieter. I miss putting jewellery on her, and sleeping next to her, and going on walks holding her hand, and all the myriad little things I could do that she said made her happy.

So. I just wanted to say something about her. It makes me sad at night sometimes--I just wanted to say why.

Comments

[rainbowjehan.livejournal.com]

there's--remarkably little to tell. She stopped talking to me; Leslie says it's because I was too high-maintenance and she had enough problems without dealing with me.

[little-lady-d.livejournal.com]

did zara say that? the both of us know how hard it is to interpret silences -- and i wouldn't believe leslie's interpretation at face value. everyone's got problems, and sometimes when you're tired and busy and possibly depressed, it's difficult to deal with people, even people you like, it's difficult to keep in touch -- that doesn't mean you were too high-maintenance to be worth the friendship, or that zara wouldn't respond kindly to a phone call, a private message, an attempt to rekindle things.

[rainbowjehan.livejournal.com]

I don't know these things.

[little-lady-d.livejournal.com]

was i prodding too much, miss? do you want me to stop?

[rainbowjehan.livejournal.com]

I just don't know, that's all.

[little-lady-d.livejournal.com]

it's all right not to know. i don't know lots of things. i just don't want to do anything that causes you pain.

i found a poem the other day -- do you want to see it?

[rainbowjehan.livejournal.com]

yes, please.

[little-lady-d.livejournal.com]

Doug Tanory - Ode To Feet

I have seen poetic feet so perfect,
The very smallest units
Of patterned stress,
Soft idioms of Iambic
And drum beats of Anapestic,
That march across the carpet
In measured meter toward full-length mirrors.

I am the bard of bare soles
And naked ankles,
Of fallen arches and
Swollen heels,
Of toenails
Pedicured and painted,
That catch the light
Like so many cut sapphires,
All arranged
In descending order of size.

I have crafted couplets in Trochaic,
And started the heartbeat of lines in Spondaic,
For I am the poet of feet,
Perfect and imperfect,
Poetic
And otherwise,
Of bunions, bumps and bent toes,
Carried within or laid upon
A pump, mule, sandal or thong.

[rainbowjehan.livejournal.com]

Eeeeeeeeeeee. It's wonderful.

[little-lady-d.livejournal.com]

feet and poetry. ^_^ it made me think of you.

[rainbowjehan.livejournal.com]

Thank you. That's an honour.

[little-lady-d.livejournal.com]

^_^ oh, the highest -- !

and ... miss. life keeps trying to teach me this lesson, that's it better to be honest than to be silent -- and i always do a poor job at learning, so i'm going to try my best now. to be honest, over christmas break, i made you a bracelet -- with silver bits and purple crystals and small black beads plump as berries -- i was even going to make matching earrings, but when you said you didn't want anything, i put it away in a little bag and tried not to think too much on it. but tuesday, my mum gave me your package -- and it made my heart ache a little, to see what was inside, because it was glittering-lovely and dangling with leaves, and -- i just wanted to tell you about the bracelet i made, even if you don't want it. but if you do, i'd like to send it you.

i'm so ungraceful. ^^; but there it is.

[rainbowjehan.livejournal.com]

miss--

yes, please, I'd love that. Truly I would love that.

[little-lady-d.livejournal.com]

^__^ i'll need your address.

[rainbowjehan.livejournal.com]

oh, that's true--isn't it. I live elsewhere now. XD Erm. 3826 oriental road, liverpool, pa, 17045--

[little-lady-d.livejournal.com]

thank you. ^____^ truly, thank you.