As part of Valentine’s examination on modern love, Motley has delved into the world of bad dates, personal essays and poetry. Our second in a poetry series, an anonymous poet lets us in on the inner workings of their heart.
19
This feeling will be the one we chase for the rest
of our lives
When we’re older
Looking to feel young again
When things don’t quite work the way they used
to
And our neighbourhoods don’t taste the same
You might not even remember my face
In a memory
I could be the sound of the static energy
I could be a body
Or an idea of a body
A 5”5 shaped shape on the hands of your more
established youth
And even so
If you just remember the small of my back
Or one single butterfly
Or one single butterfly
Or the last flicker of a candle before leaving the
room into complete darkness
That will be enough for me.
I will myself remember your jaw
And your eyes narrowed above me staring into
mine
As if I am a puzzle or a question
Or a 5”5 shape in the hands of your more established youth,
I will remember how my stomach drops and
flutters when we speak about our pasts, values
and futures.
I would never address to you our differences,
because as soon the words leave my lips I am
uttering them into existence. And I am so very
afraid of our differences growing limbs.
Does difference equal harmony? I am not a
woman of sense or practicality.
I am a woman of chaos.
Accept me.
Love me.
And when I am just a memory, remember me.
