Terra Incognita

Is the first poem I fell in love with. I forgot the exact reason why—perhaps it was the sirens that haunt my dreams as well, perhaps it was the ship sailing, perhaps it was simply the words "uncharted waters."

Uncharted. I fell in love with that uncertainty.

I have tried to recreate that mood, but without much success. Something about it did not sound right, and so I gave up poetry, because what good was poetry if it could not express my uncharted waters?

Whatever they were. I am not sure I know what they are to me.

. . .

Going back to my old stories, I can find a couple recurring characters. Nate, Allison, and of course Syrena. She of the sirens. I had not realized that when I first named her. Her name came from Syreille, which itself was some blend of French and inspiration.

Syreille and Carenallie. Some mismatch, and there was Syrena. My siren. Who was a hymn angel, who sang, who could bend wills with her songs.

That I realized she was a siren in disguise was much, much later.

It was the same with Allison Carter. I realized he was a musician after I realized every piece I wrote about him described him either in a band or playing an instrument. A guitar. He played the guitar. There was no intention, these Allison Carters were not supposed to be exactly the same, but they were. They were all guitarists, and I only realized that after three stories.

Some characters are real, even if they are not rooted in reality.

. . .

I drew yesterday. Started out with what I knew worst, hands. I drew a hand and changed it into a glove, because I did not have the courage to add the arm.

Eyes. Turned into a mask worthy of any masquerade. Pearl necklace with a nautical-themed charm. Sea shells. Feathers. Perfume in a bottle, tickets to some unknown world, rope in a noose burning on one end.

Lipstick. Powder. Camera and ink, pens and pencils and pencil shavings. Nail polish. A photo of the past, earphones and an iPod. Knife with blood. An eraser.

"I love you, and I know you love me. But I can't stay. I'm sorry."

. . .

Absurd. All absurd.

No more turning back.

A Little Nonsense

I usually don't write one-liner paragraphs (sentences?) in consecutive order, but I wanted to give it a try.

I only sing for Nate.

I don't know if he ever hears me singing, but I do sing for him, and I only sing for him.

There are a lot more things I only do for Nate.

Such as writing about Nephria.

Yes, Nephria really is a place.

Nate did not come from Nephria—he is from Kaniol—but he and Nephria are the same to me.

So I write for Nate, and I write about Nephria.

I think Nate reads what I write, and I think it hurts us both when he reads.

About Allie, I mean, and the edge, and not being able to stop my precarious wanderings.

We are always an eternity apart.

So I write.

And he sings.

I can always hear him singing—he has a beautiful, fountain-clear voice.

He sings what I write, and I write what he sings.

It is not intentional, of course—we just happen to think about the same things.

The things that keep us apart, and bring us together, and make us realize how ridiculous we are.

Because I love him, if only I could say that.

I can't.

And so we are an eternity apart, and while I can still hear his voice resounding in my ears, I am writing. This.