Poetics: Some Point Between Here and There

Some Point Between Here and There 

JG 2.914

I imagined a perfect life with you.

We would live in a loft;
I would prepare breakfast,
and you would gladly make tea.

A prayer for the day ahead,
and a kiss goodbye.
I'd be someone important at work,
and so would you.
We would live comfortably.

Then I realize,
This is my dream.
I realize--I don't even know you.
You say you want to live out of the city.
What?
You say you don't drink caffeine--
Since when?
You prefer hard labor instead of the officework.
Okay.

I am jarred.
I am repentant.

Confused.
Did I take the time to know you?
Were we on the same page?
Did we have the same conversations?
I'm blindsided, and so are you.
What happened?
Really, what happened?

You had another vision--
Another dream all together.
Your personal values,
Your mores,
Your ethics,
beautiful in their own right,
are so different from mine.
I didn't get to know you well enough.
Yet, this isn't disappointing.

We are at a stall.
Actually, there is no 'we'.
There's you.
There's me.
Paths that were once parallel--

never really having converged,

and all the more diverging. 

Thank you for being you.
However, I still like what I see.

Poetics in the mind. There'll be more posted. 

Every Entrance was an Exit Elsewhere

Yesterday (Monday) night was the final class for Drama. I'm sad to realize that next Monday evening I wouldn't be surrounded by really cool, warm, and kind people. It was a lovely journey to be a part of. I told my acting teacher last night, "I learned to access my feelings, commit to them, and follow through." To which he replied, "well that's true of everything we do, right?", indeed it is.

I had a late start this morning, which I'm quite annoyed about--I'll make due. Drinking tea, I thought about my stay here in Boston, the community I've been a part of--Grace Street/Revolution Church, and my previous/present? classmates. These thoughts actually began a few days ago when, in frustration, I started to pack. I took down most of the cards and letters people have sent/given me and tucked them away. Several are still up on the wall, I'll need them to get through the week. A specific card, given by a dear friend, talked about how she'd miss me as I moved up to Boston. That's nearly 2 years ago.

Two years. A chapter of my life will be closing soon. Nothing's going to stop me.

Boston held previous memories. Boston holds graveyards. Boston holds closure.

Once I pass the threshold and shut the door come the end of the month, I'll be back in NY, but it will be an entrance to something else.