Fiona (#2)

To the Man Who told Me No:
A Love Letter.

It is August in London, and
Carnival smells of curry, cold beer, patchouli
And you.

The air around us tastes of sweat, honey, and
something else.

Radiant flashes of color bloom around me.
Pink and yellow scarves blowing, pastel flags in the breeze.
Red lips smiling widely over white teeth,
Emerald green sequins stretch over caramel skin.
Inky black feathers, brazened like swords

None of them compare to the blue of your eyes.

Vibrant purples pale in comparison.
Other shades of blue bow their heads.

The air itself seems to glitter.

Your eyes,
They are all I see.

They ground me in the Blur.

You grab my hands,
we both feel the spark.
Minutes later,
When the current is still strong,
And the color floods my cheeks like wine,
I wonder if our bodies will simply begin to glow.

As you pull me to you,
You never break my gaze.
I remember how my little body trusted you with all she had.
For once, she was right.

Being held by you, in that crowd of crazy,
Time freezes and I examine the tableau around me.
Warm, bright, blurry.
People pour around us like water.

I swear we are alone.

We welcome the night with cigarette
smoke, war cries and whistling at stars.
Colors become shockingly bright, then suddenly dim.
Soft music flicks its tongue in my ear,
slow, heavy.
Serpentine.

People everywhere sing,
Loud throaty laughter surrounds me.
I’m not sure where we are anymore.
I swear I see Paul McCartney.

And as I am swept away by the magic
Of a truly great night,
I realize this is a perfect moment.

Me on your lap.
Your hand on my cheek.
Your eyes on mine.
Smiling that smile.

I bite my lip and in moments we are alone.

I am not afraid.
You are everywhere,
And all I want is you.
I say yes.

Yes.

Yes.

Slowly and then all at once
I feel your hands stop moving over the curves of my hips and pull away.

When they return,
they are the hands of a brother.
I hear you whisper,
As you gather me in your arms,
‘It’s not right baby’

That every pill, every sip, every puff
Has made me a puddle of the princess I had been earlier
And you see I need help.
Not sex.

The colors fade around me.
I protest.

In the distance I hear glass break and I am sure it is my heart.

I try again, but you are firm and kind.
It seems moments later I am safe in my bed.
Alone.

16 years later, I still smile at the smell of curry.

And your blue is still the most vibrant of colors.

To the Man who told me No,
You gave me hope
And in return I gave you part of my heart.

Whether you realized it or not.

To the Man that told me No,

I love you.

 

Love,

Piss and Vinegar

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