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Coffee shop (Shaver and Mississippi)

I can still smell the remnants of her luscious auburn locks, that sweet aroma, bringing me back the countless mornings that we spent here together. The morning I met such a sophisticated beauty, and from then, this very table, very time, every Sunday. The echoes of coffee that cover her tender expression remind me of my beginning of love and infatuation for her and life. I arrived here early to ensure the table that we always sat at together, not wanting to lose her existence. sitting across an empty chair only imagining her fair features, matured but still picturesque, I long to see the smile that would linger across her face. Liking the dull smell of coffee and aged essence, the way the tables have the ridge that gathers her crumbs. Impatient to embrace our past, I clear my dish, the wooden heels of my boots share a significant presence in this space. Even over the loud coffee and the conversations that fill the room as I walk towards the exit.

I open the creaking door, leaving the growing commotion eager to embraces the path we always took, taking a right out the door and heading toward Failing Street.

Turn on failing

Empty this time, absent of the warmth of her petite hands. East on Failing Street where my history with her exists.

This street brought her back to her childhood, telling stories and memories including the ones that I shared with her. She gave light to my trivial existence. I miss her radiance and relaxed aura. Blue fenced home diminishing to its mortality.
She eternally asks me, "Does it ever feel like you're the only one paying attention?"

Unthank Park

Discovering Unthank Park, how could I disregard the countless days we wasted away on the swings pondering our existence in serenity, listening to the Sunday morning’s break.

Fate and Hailing ( walking failing)

She appreciated the latest addition to this corner; I can picture her heavenly smile, the place I found her soul. A beginning to a beautiful conclusion.

We would always cross Faight at Hailing where the ducks occasionally appeared.
Mystified clouds that sheltered and consumed the streets always lead me this way, partial to the way my boots thud against the path, making noise with no comment, inclined to her discoveries, I need not say no.

Turn on Fremont

Lost in the empty sounds of my wooden heels I glance up to see the oddly placed, unadorned church, filled with lost souls. This prohibits me from continuing south

Turning on Vancouver

East once more. Trees reach over the dampened sidewalk, a puddle that redirects me to cross, pursuing my stride south on Vancouver

Freshly painted bright green structure never apt to remain unmarked.

Walking South on Vancouver

A past in which history endures to be shattered, reminiscences struggle to be recovered. Much learned about the identity to the left, that the right fashioned.

The way in which the trees embraced her as she wandered drifting to a distant world for this short moment of 47 steps.

Trees opening up, an awkward end to such a mystifying place.

Downtown Albina

Times perception gave me reason why she did these beautiful unpredictable acts.

Sun peaks and you knew where she was to be found.
Laying her delicate curls amongst the blades of grass, watching the clouds float by, forever missing in her thoughts, the times I laid with her, she told of the stories this place held. Each blade of grass, a replacement for a memory of what was formerly known as the home and center for many, once a town of its own.

Turn on Russell

Peek of a field to the southwest, a tender acquaintance.

Slowly the school appears, emotions begin to surface

The feeling of apprehension amongst my feet distracts my emotions for an instant. Silent shouts of children imagined as I walk across the field. Curiosity continuing to reoccur, though knowing what lies behind the raised concrete.

Basketball court

Surface adjusts, solid yet again, each tread walked fills my heart with expectancy of her manifestation. I contact the step where all is revealed, she stands hands grasp the cold chain link fence, the silhouette of her frame captured by the grey heavens, her long curls blow in the air, hearing me near, her body shifts and glances this way serenely, never thinking to see the grace of her face once more. I peek quickly to assure the last stride I look up

Imagination took me away, my heart sinks drained of hope.
Why do I suffer such grief? I long for her presence once more.
An urge to touch my lips softly against her delicate cheek, same surface against my back when she initiated these intimate acts that will be engraved in my memory for eternity.

I am lost now, hanging my head, disconcerned with the somber sky that eats away the vista
After prolonged remnants of her walking through my scattered thought

Going out on Paige Street

Leaving the recollection of my illusions
Page Street channels me to what was her house, warehouses and decaying homes miscellaneous
Unwanted art works posted; she would find this exquisite.

Turning on Williams then back onto Thompson Street

Cross Williams, south I spot the Trillium Garden. Turn left

Her past there more than mine, caught up in my selfish thoughts I long to caress her soft hands. I grow sorrowful as I approach her past.

Her street Thompson

Not understanding why she had to leave me, she was not one to deserve such a condition, a pure soul always full of joy.
My body pulls me along as my mind resists. I don’t want to face the pain that was bestowed upon her. More surreal as I approach, this place not the same since she left. Overwhelmed with emotion, Cold and Grey the only color that remains is green, her house green, the blades of damp grass, and the treetops. Green, green, green, my feet stop me and unconsciously my body turns 205 NE Thompson.

I feel as though my heart has been pulled right out of my chest. What am I to do without her? As I stand here remembering all the wonderful times that we spent together, what I would give to feel the warmth of her soft skin against mine once more. Or soft sweet lips with a subtle taste of honey.

Glioblastoma Multiforme, a brain tumor that toke her away from me and the beautiful life she lived. She accepted it and told me I would be with her again in the heavens. All remaining is the essence of a memory.

1 comment:

Jeremiah said...

I loved your book. It was emotionally satisfying and tactilely satiating.