cold soup
Posted: 10/12/2005, 1:30 am
so i wrote this for a contest coming up for our school's newspaper. the subject is the colour blue. please critique. this is just a first draft, and input would be adored. thanks!
...
You blessed me with the colour blue. The first time I fell into your sky strung eyes, I was engulfed by a rolling wave that started somewhere above me and crashed down, soaking me through in an instant. Of course, on that day when we sat eating pizza and discussing music, I didn’t tell you that my heart was yours. I waited half a year to do that.
Time moves in different ways; it plods through school hour by hour, but races through weeks that feel very much the same. Christmas arrived. That garish time of year when one can’t help but feel cold and alone when faced with a world full of shrink-wrapped cheer. It was time to take a chance. I gave you a mix cd. The next day you returned in kind. Morrison crooned through my speakers: come on, baby, take a chance with us and get on the back of the blue bus.
I was aboard. Hazy music-filled nights with you, that peacock-coloured cookie bag the unmistakable lure I could always use. You can catch most fish with worms, bait a bird with breadcrumbs, but I wooed you with Oreos.
Time: and the hours with you flew by, the days without you stretched out like elastic as I checked and double checked the clock, knowing full well what time you’d be home at. I knew your schedule intimately. After you got home, I suggested going to the woods: I’ve got the Oreos if you want to go.
You were wearing the sweater I love; the speckled one of that sharp cornflower shade. You told me it was made of organic wool, man. You said it made you feel like a hippy. You resembled one, tall and lanky with unkempt hair and a laid back demeanour that radiated mellowness. The azure of the day turned into the navy of night, as we sat and watched the river. Well, maybe you watched the river – my eyes were for you. Quick, timid, unexpected came your kiss. My heart leaped. I could see the ocean of my eyes reflected in the sky of yours – endless shades of blue.
And soon, time pressed against us. The city called me away. It was the last date. You gave me a gift. The electric sweater unwashed and smelling of you. Unwashed, I wore it, buried myself in it on those lonely nights indoors when I could still feel the coarseness of your wild mane under my fingers, feel the press of your body against mine, the beat of your heart next to my ear as we lay so many times staring at the stars and speaking of infinity.
Nature’s first green may shine golden, but love’s first blossom is blue. But hues fade away. The sweater grew mould, so I washed it. It paled, and as the echoes in my heart multiplied, you closed yourself off. You never wanted a relationship, you say. You never wanted the pain. I know different. I know that the wild deer, grown accustomed to my presence, will rapidly become distant again after time elapses. Wild things can’t wait. They must do as their instinct bides.
You grow distant. I wait for those cherished conversations that opportunity allows, but time and space conspire against us. Communication status: infrequent. Loneliness: growing. Misery becoming unbearable. You are having a hard time adjusting to your new life. The job, the strangers, the pressure, the conformity. Blue-collared and bruised, your lion’s mane shorn, your cage became noticeable.
And you sent me another song. This time a Blind Melon number.
“I’ll push away those baby blues, because one of these days this will die. And so will me, and so will you.”
But when I got on the bus, I knew there was no getting off. Keep pushing, if you have to. I can’t see your eyes from here, but mine are becoming obscured by tears.
I sit here in my jeans, and a ratty sweater that someone gave to me once. And that I continue to wear every day, although I know even the brightest blue fades eventually. After all, it’s not the colour I’m in love with. It’s you; wild, flighty, organic you.
...
You blessed me with the colour blue. The first time I fell into your sky strung eyes, I was engulfed by a rolling wave that started somewhere above me and crashed down, soaking me through in an instant. Of course, on that day when we sat eating pizza and discussing music, I didn’t tell you that my heart was yours. I waited half a year to do that.
Time moves in different ways; it plods through school hour by hour, but races through weeks that feel very much the same. Christmas arrived. That garish time of year when one can’t help but feel cold and alone when faced with a world full of shrink-wrapped cheer. It was time to take a chance. I gave you a mix cd. The next day you returned in kind. Morrison crooned through my speakers: come on, baby, take a chance with us and get on the back of the blue bus.
I was aboard. Hazy music-filled nights with you, that peacock-coloured cookie bag the unmistakable lure I could always use. You can catch most fish with worms, bait a bird with breadcrumbs, but I wooed you with Oreos.
Time: and the hours with you flew by, the days without you stretched out like elastic as I checked and double checked the clock, knowing full well what time you’d be home at. I knew your schedule intimately. After you got home, I suggested going to the woods: I’ve got the Oreos if you want to go.
You were wearing the sweater I love; the speckled one of that sharp cornflower shade. You told me it was made of organic wool, man. You said it made you feel like a hippy. You resembled one, tall and lanky with unkempt hair and a laid back demeanour that radiated mellowness. The azure of the day turned into the navy of night, as we sat and watched the river. Well, maybe you watched the river – my eyes were for you. Quick, timid, unexpected came your kiss. My heart leaped. I could see the ocean of my eyes reflected in the sky of yours – endless shades of blue.
And soon, time pressed against us. The city called me away. It was the last date. You gave me a gift. The electric sweater unwashed and smelling of you. Unwashed, I wore it, buried myself in it on those lonely nights indoors when I could still feel the coarseness of your wild mane under my fingers, feel the press of your body against mine, the beat of your heart next to my ear as we lay so many times staring at the stars and speaking of infinity.
Nature’s first green may shine golden, but love’s first blossom is blue. But hues fade away. The sweater grew mould, so I washed it. It paled, and as the echoes in my heart multiplied, you closed yourself off. You never wanted a relationship, you say. You never wanted the pain. I know different. I know that the wild deer, grown accustomed to my presence, will rapidly become distant again after time elapses. Wild things can’t wait. They must do as their instinct bides.
You grow distant. I wait for those cherished conversations that opportunity allows, but time and space conspire against us. Communication status: infrequent. Loneliness: growing. Misery becoming unbearable. You are having a hard time adjusting to your new life. The job, the strangers, the pressure, the conformity. Blue-collared and bruised, your lion’s mane shorn, your cage became noticeable.
And you sent me another song. This time a Blind Melon number.
“I’ll push away those baby blues, because one of these days this will die. And so will me, and so will you.”
But when I got on the bus, I knew there was no getting off. Keep pushing, if you have to. I can’t see your eyes from here, but mine are becoming obscured by tears.
I sit here in my jeans, and a ratty sweater that someone gave to me once. And that I continue to wear every day, although I know even the brightest blue fades eventually. After all, it’s not the colour I’m in love with. It’s you; wild, flighty, organic you.
thanks so much.