Category: poetry

This needs a warning. It contains a little sexual content. Gay sex to be precise…

A blessing in disguise

As soon as the digits on my clock turned to 5:00 PM, I dropped my pen, turned off my computer and the little lamp on my desk and left the office. It was Friday afternoon and there was nothing that would keep me from going home to my boyfriend. Nothing. He worked shifts and with a little luck, I would have one hour with him tonight before he had to be at work. On my way to the elevator, I saw my boss speaking to one of my colleagues. He waved with papers and pointed at documents, that’s when I decided to run the other way. He was one of those guys, who could coax you into staying late or coming in on a Saturday, without even being aware of it, until you said you’d be there and couldn’t back out of it. I had been trapped in his little games often enough, but not today. I took the stairs, two at a time and when I was in the lobby, I greeted the doorman on my way out. As soon, as my foot touched the pavement, the sky opened up and it began to rain. No, it wasn’t raining, it was pouring. I decided that a little rain wouldn’t be enough to keep me away from my partner. Smiling, I tried to wave for a cab, but they all ignored me. With a sigh, I held my briefcase over my head and with the other hand, I tried to keep my coat closed as much as possible, I made my way on foot to the next subway. The wind was taking up and blew the cool rain right into my face and my mood shifted. From happy and hopeful to foul and pissed off. I had to wait at a crossing for the little green man to appear and announce that it was safe to cross the road and right in that moment, a truck drove through a huge hole that was filled with rain. It splashed out and in a matter of seconds, I was soaked. I was contemplating to shouting my displeasure out form the top of my lungs, but I refrained form doing it. I let the briefcase drop down at my side and my shoulders slumped. If this was any indicator of how my weekend would go on, I was down on my luck. My phone buzzed and while crossing the street, I took it out to see that I had a message from David. David – my partner for the last seven years.

Continue reading “a blessing in disguise”

I am here. Wide awake, when I should be sound asleep. All alone, when I should be with you. Your scent still lingers on the pillow next to me and I pull it closer against me. It makes me safe. Safer than I am without you by my side. I want to inhale it and bring you back to me. I am not ready to let go.

I knew, that this would happen sometime soon. I knew, that one night, I would wake up and you would be gone. That night is now. You promised, you would never leave me. But you broke your promise. You did this to us.

I came home and your bags were backed, ready at the door. You said you would go back to your mom’s, until I found a new place to stay. But where am I supposed to stay? I don’t have the right to work here. I don’t have much money left and the friends – they are yours, not mine. Not one of them will offer me a couch to sleep on, because no matter how you’ll twist and turn it, I’ll stay the stranger, the foreign woman, who gave up everything for you. You couldn’t look at me, when you walked out of the door and I refused to scream and shout at you. I refused to call you back. I refused to cry in front of you.

Maybe that was my biggest mistake. Maybe I should have fought for you. Maybe I should have asked what was going wrong. I didn’t even think about it. I just saw you and your bags and the determination in your eyes. And the sadness too. I let you go and it broke my heart.

It’s the middle of the night and I am still clutching your pillow. I don’t want this to end. I am not ready to let you go. In the spur of the moment, I grab the phone and dial your number. I take a deep breath and sit up straight. I pull your pillow onto my lap and straighten the cover around my legs. On the third ring, you pick up and for a moment, I am speechless. No words are ready to be said.

“It’s me.” I finally say, still running my hand over imaginary creases in the sheets.

“I know.” you say. I wish I could hear more hope in your voice. Instead, I hear wariness and sadness.

“What happened?” I ask, coming straight to the point.

“Everything. Nothing. I am dried up.” he confesses and wouldn’t I know what he is talking about, I wouldn’t understand. But I do. He has lost his creativity. The worst possible scenario for a painter. He hasn’t touched a brush since I am here. I am not keeping him from doing so, but he doesn’t paint anymore.

“Is it my fault?” I ask, dreading the answer. Maybe it is my fault. Maybe it’s the natural way of creativity. It’s like a wave, sometimes all consuming and there and other times only barely tangible. Almost nonexistent.

“Maybe.” he whispers and I can feel the tears burn in my eyes. I knew it, but I didn’t want to hear it. I am certain, that I will never win his heart over his art. He lives, breathes, sweats for his art. I can’t win this war.

“I don’t want you to go.” I finally say, after a short silence that was heavy in the line.

“I don’t know what to do. It’s all I can do. I am good at it.” I can practically see him running his hand over his bald head. Back and forth, feeling the stumbled underneath his fingertips.

“I know. I know.” I whisper and I can feel him pull away even further from me. He is slipping through my fingers and there is nothing I can do.

“I can’t sleep without you by my side. I never thought, that I would be addicted to you like this.” he says and I feel the same. I can’t sleep without feeling his body close to mine and hearing his rhythmic breaths.

“But I am draining you. Why can’t I be a source of energy for you? Why can’t I inspire you?” I don’t want him to answer. I don’t want him to crush my heart even more.

“I don’t know. I wish I would know.” he sounds like he is crying now and I long to hold him. I don’t want to make him miserable. I don’t want to make him sad. But I am not ready to let go. Not yet. I let go of too many things lately.

“Can I come home?” his question pierces through my thoughts and I don’t know what to say. I smile – no grin – I want to say so many things, but there is a big lump in my throat and it prevents the words to roll off my tongue. Not even a sound comes out. I panic. What if he takes my silence as a ‘no’? He clears his throat, while I still struggle to make a sound. Tears wet my cheeks. Happy tears, because he is coming back. Soon. It won’t be like it used to be and I know that. Everything will change between us and yet, I crave his touch and his kiss. I need him to take me into his arms and pet my hair gently. I like it, when I lean my head against his shoulder and his hand racks trough the lengths of my hair. I soothes me.

“Yes” I finally croak.

Before anything else can be said, he is gone. There’s only the familiar beep audible. I look at the phone, as if it could answer all those unasked questions. The beep sounds mocking and I put the phone face down my the nightstand.

I rub my face with my hands. So much drama for nothing. But how am I supposed to make his creativity come back? There is nothing I can do.

Not even five minutes later, I hear his key in the lock of the front door. I run my hands through my hair, to flatten it a bit. It’s a silly move, but it makes me believe, that I look much better now, than before. I wait. Patiently. Nervously. The bedroom door opens and he is back.

He sits on the bed, wringing his hands, looking down at his feet. They’re naked now. I come closer to you. Putting a kiss on your shoulder, resting my head on it.

“I am sorry.”

“Don’t give up on me. Not yet.” I whisper and he turns in my arms. Together, we curl up in a ball under the sheets. He is still dressed. It doesn’t matter. He’s back. He puts his head on my chest and listens to my heartbeat. I kiss his head. Our fingers entwine and we stay silent. Eventually falling asleep like this. Nothing is like it was before. It will never be the same, but which direction it all will go – I don’t know.