an invitation

come in, and sit awhile. normally, i would ask how you are...but tonight is different. tonight i want to tell you things. i want to tell you stories. i want you to listen...but you dont have to, you may go if you wish, and spend time elsewhere...but you will miss something. i will tell you stories of life and love. of who i am...not the mask that others know so well...but me. the central part of self that is always hidden from view for fear of pain...for fear of the light. for fear that the most valuable part of oneself would not be valued. i would tell you these things in the words of my mind, but his smell is washing over me...and tonight i must speak with my heart. for though he is gone now...the silent song still echoes in my ears...with all its pain...and all its joy. i wouldnt take it back. this is your chance. the sun is gone now...and the chill is settling into the night. and the secret thoughts and feelings that are veiled during the day are exposed...raw to the moonlight (for as everyone knows...moonlight is far better to coax the tender dreams from their hiding places deep in the heart than sunlight) so here i will sing my silent song...weave my web of shimmering thread that, when you look closely, is not really shimmering at all, but wavering in the light of your eyes. this is a place where the deep note of the guitar sounds in your chest as another heartbeat...deep and rhythmic, and the lullabies are really songs of sorrow made to sound sweet to lull the little ones to sleep, as the tears fall on the mother's cheeks. a place where the paper roses bloom and thrive in the fertile ground, then wither and die as the real roses take over the gardens. watered with dreams and misplaced trust.

she keeps his picture behind the one of her father on the mantle...and only looks at it when no one will see her tears. the paper rose he gave her sits in a blue glass vase that she found in the attic of her grandmother's house when she was ten. she begged her grandmother to let her have it. the vase was given to her grandmother from an old beau...lost in the war. she can still remember her confusion at the tears on her nana's smiling face as she said yes. its been so long, and the paper has faded...but she wont throw it away. the vase would look too empty, nana's vase must not be empty or abandoned. no, not abandoned...