The Circus in Me

by S.M. Bjarnson

  I comforted the worries, tricks played on her troubled mind. Hold onto her, hushing the cold wind blowing in on our warm day. She stood an activist in the middle of a speechless crowd. The voice you heard sweetly singing to praise your soul.

  She spoke, her limbs enveloped around those of which I owned. They mocked the indifference in her, making my attraction more surreal. It was as though the more they scorned her the more my magnetic field increased radius.

  Wishes that I could in some degree make up for the past anguishes made by a more reckless version of Briggs Byington.

  Nuzzle my head in her neck, replaying those moments of our first greeting. Trae’s innocence abounding from her, the inexperienced girl making the attraction harder to bear. Simply giving in telling her the whole kit and caboodle. Hopes that something would trigger a code word, passing me onto the next level.

  Now I realize the interpretation of desperate need to confess turmoil. It was not to gain access, but for her to win admittance into mine. A negative pull to the attraction of her positive retrospect.

  No one approached the glory of the biblical leper, they all assumed she would turn out to be. I had to have her, when no one else would claim her.

  Catastrophic wisdom making me a lodestone to the force around Trae’s manifestation. Breath taken from the lips I once kissed with others. The twine of flyaway hairs engulfed in the afternoon wind.

  Trae Lae, I love you…

 

  st