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Polaroid Illusions

Soft decadent chocolate,

melts in the mouth like butter.

While I open boxed up photos,

Polaroid illusions.

That trip we took down the lake,

Clouds intertwined with mountain tops,

Virgin greenery, wooden abodes;

The vast, calm lake.

Not a ripple in sight.

Too perfect to be true.

The bar is about to finish now,

Sticky, sickly sweetness,

Chocolate chokes me up.

Maybe some coffee to balance it out?

I take a sip and see our video,

Slow motion, of the pebbles thrown into water,

Just to create and capture ripples.

The deliberate throw,

We knew what we were doing all along, didn't we?

But the peace of the glass lake broke into pieces.

One pebble was all it took.

The bitterness of coffee hits me now.

My breath carries with it the strains of harshness.

Alluring coffee,

Maybe we need the bitterness to feel alive.

I open a bag of chips,

Today's a holiday, why not?

The stub from a concert,

The time we out-rowed our friends on the lake,

Oars built waves, forward motion then;

Pebbles came later to break the flow.

Our birthdays, anniversaries;

Our moments of abject silliness.

These chips, little spicy, very salty;

Too much of them, and only water can save you.

Remember the home I built of paper?

The birthday card of a lifetime,

Little did I know, a paper home would be deconstructed so soon.

Maybe it was too much of an effort to keep the roof on.

Card as imperfect as our breaking love.


Something between bitter and sweet,

Not salty, just jarring,

A mellow yet pungent awakening,

Full bodied.

The red wine I drink seems perfect now.

I must start cooking my meal,

Construct one, out of oft broken ingredients.

Some salt, some spice, some pungent garlic;

Maybe a bit of ginger and some healing turmeric.

The meals I eat, are so whole;

I almost forget the spices that make it.

So many memories, uncaptured;

Especially the ones with the most hard hitting flavors.

Polaroid illusions,

For our image can only smile;

But what makes our soul is the pain,

And the soft healing of the turmeric.

And my meals get more flavorful by the day,

For you taught me to look behind the end;

I now know the tastes of each broken ingredient;

And the flow to make it whole,

And my love isn't just bittersweet anymore.

Image credits: Robayre on Pinterest

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1 Comment

"But what makes our soul is the pain" So True! Another Amazing read. Bravo :)

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