“Repetition is a cruel splash of the hardest hail upon our faces. Of life, where moments matter more than dreams. Of love, where sadness speaks more than the moments that indeed fade. For life, a person will always gain. For love, a person will always lose.”– Peter A.W. Wyatt
It is to him that this pain, in deepest relation to his wife, can be a thing that reminds him of the moment. As love cradles, so does the ocean become carried with a few droplets that disperse from this man’s eyes, adding more to the flood. For nothing else darkens more of a wave, than the sadness released from a heart. It is here, when Johnathan carries the weak Lisa, that a crown can be placed upon his head, to label him the monarch of this feud between love and the moment. The moment in which tells him to stare to her, contrasting from the future where there are the lowest clouds smearing fog upon the streets of his mind.
A golden moment, where realization stifles the great steps ahead. For it is why Johnathan has not moved, when there is a loveseat before him. A moment where he may give his praise through a simple stare of his two teeming eyes, where a wilderness inside has sunken through puddles.
Here, a reflection may be witnessed from Lisa, the one who is carried, to the man who loves her. A simple gesture, of his quivering lips, then to two more tears that drop from his eyes to branch forth to his lips, is all to realize the deepest emotions he now evokes. He captains a ship of his own, making no remembrance to the world behind himself, though to keep his path at a constant steadiness for what shall transpire. Of a beauty that shall flake off from his grasp, creating a painting or mural of ashes, scattered in multitude. What sticks them? What remains them, to be set in place? It is the mere act of what is “gone”, to then be wrapped in a blanket inside of Johnathan’s basement of the mind.
A kiss. A solitary one. One replacing the scarring emptiness upon Lisa’s forelorn lips. One that keeps her knit, keeps her heart firm and gathered. One that creates the solidarity for which heeds the moment, though wares the future. Not to suffocate that which could collapse in a distant heartbeat that is a mere second across the field of time, nor to give to Lisa’s remaining grace a greater feebleness. Not to shock, nor to confuse, as this kiss goes to merely shed a sameness of himself, of Johnathan, to bury in her the emotion he has felt for this long-lasting moment.
It awakens her. A kiss that awakens her, as she motions both arms about his neck. She swallows his breath, and glides each of the every little millimeter to her tongue within his mouth. A passion that brings her forth, raises her up, and then loosens her. She is alive, though sick. She is sick, though remains with the fire she keeps alive.