Un-Parisianed by Caroline Dupuy Heerwagen
Words, the very things I’ve built my life around, words… betray me. Every sentence I construct in your direction seems a failure!
I had won this game entirely, I want you to know. Completely shattered all attempts to resist my playful and subdued nature with my lips pouted this way, and my eyes rolling that way… Pointing silence skillfully at just the right body parts to create sheer panic.
I had cackled to myself in the dark at my triumphs. Delighted at my victories on the battlements of lust.
But now… What are these ridiculous and pathetic jabs? What am I doing?! I plop myself down on the floor of my dimmed apartment and plant my head firmly in my hands in the sheerest of sheer disbelief. Where did the aloof and delicious slinking go? What happened to my ambrosial cheer and where did my honed wit disappear to? And who is this fumbling and sardonic child that’s been left in their wake?! Oh, she’s humiliating. She’s brash and forthcoming, and not mysterious at all!
My head sinks further into my hands, engulfing my face, my fingers tearing at my perfectly painted eyelids. I had planned such exact quips, and all these moments my legs should cross just so, but there in your eyes… Oh your eyes… I had forgotten. Grasping desperately at any words I could find at all to fill up the silence I had become so acutely aware spanned between your sentences. My heart escaped me. The easiness I was so sure I had locked in my grasp deserted me utterly and I became, once again, a girl, who bruises her knees and says silly things. Oh your eyes. I am lost… Here on the floor. Lost. Lost in your eyes that I don’t understand. That peer down upon me from their perch, watching me flip and crumble in these pieces of you. I am undone there. All coolness gone. All indifference lost to the night you sat there and looked upon me. Lost to the firmness of your hand upon my neck.
#water #moon #writing
I guess my pen is going to just keep on moving.
I guess the world is going to have to keep on yielding.
I guess my heart is going to just keep on blooming.
I guess I’m going to have to keep on breathing.
I didn’t know you would be coming here.
I didn’t think that I could possibly withstand it.
But now that you are I don’t know that I care.
If I die from it or if I finally live because of it.
I looked at you a long time. I’m not sure that you noticed. It wouldn’t have mattered if you did. I couldn’t stop myself from doing it because what I saw there was more than flesh, and what I saw was more than men are allotted. I saw entire nations rising up. I saw Babylon and I saw the Red Sea rising. There inside your eye was the heat of the sun and through your skin I could hear the sound of the tide pushing sand upon the shore. I could feel myself being tethered to you in that moment and the cold sorrows that had hung in my heart for years began to warm and flow, moving out across my body to push my chest towards you, towards the evergreen, and the raging battlements, the twisting mountain paths, and the little white flowers that grow between the rocks they lead to. I felt then that no matter what any of that meant in history of my life, I had seen something beautiful, truly beautiful and complete in the dappled green of your gaze. And so it doesn’t matter if that was it, and all I’ll ever get is that night when we sat, leaned into each other laughing, or when you touched the small of my back, or that moment I felt you restrain yourself from kissing me in the crowd of our friends. That might be all I ever get. And that’s okay, because what I saw there inside your face, written all over the parts of you that don’t show, undid so many things I never thought could be undone that anything beyond that is just greedy.
Yeah, I wear shirts buttoned to the very top, and my hair’s messy, and yeah, I wear red lipstick in the middle of the day, and I prefer chucks to stilettos, and I have trouble sleeping, and yeah I get scared of ghosts, and I like cartoons when I’m tired, and I used to believe in unicorns. Yeah, I still might. I might be a little weird, and a little forward, and a little out of my mind, but I like it when I am. I like it when I’m on fire, and when I laugh too loud in restaurants, and I like it when I’m by myself and there’s no one around to see me laugh. I’m me, and I’ve always been me, and that ain’t ever gonna change.
-Caroline Dupuy Heerwagen
The question has gone all over the place… it’s really bounced around quite a bit… now what it seems to have landed on is this one solid point about sleep vs lack of sleep. Are you worth my being tired enough for me to forfeit sleep? The answer to this question is coming back “no” an awful lot.
Caroline Dupuy Heerwagen
"Why do I feel more when my yoga instructor touches me than when you do? Why can’t I feel anything?" I screamed at myself in the car driving home. I’d just spent about 10 minutes silently crying on the floor at my Yoga studio after the male instructor had rubbed my neck at the end of class while everyone lays still on their mats. He’d done this to a number of people in class. It wasn’t unusual, but regardless I’d burst into tears, and now sat at a stop sign on my way back to my apartment that was always full of the memory of you, but that’s about it. I ran through all the moments I’d begged your lips to yield anything at all unto me… A jolt, a shiver, a tinge of longing that might awaken my body, make my thighs yawn open, or my blood quicken beneath my goosebumped skin.
I worry about this, as I wipe the chalked up black streaks from beneath my eyes and along the sides of my face. What’s happened to me? I wonder. I remember not too long before these clouds settled over my feelings I was a fervent thing, quivering beneath the weight of someone, twisting with the lightening that coursed through me. I worry about this, because I worry I left my lightening with that person, and I’m not sure how to get it back. I worry because there’s a chance I won’t be able to… That it’s set somehow in the green of his eye, and the pressure of his palm on someone else. You see, I loved him too much, and I’m worried. I’m worried that his greed in those moments swallowed up whatever innocence I had in the area and now I’ve run out of the stuff. And I just want to feel you so bad. I want to feel you press up on me, the heat rising from my open mouth into the nape of your neck. My organs seizing up… My back bending to push my chest into yours because I can’t abide the space that’s there. I want this so bad that I cry in yoga, and I scream in my car at stop lights. Not caring at all what the driver in the car next to mine, or the person that’s crossing the street in front of me might think about this clearly disturbed individual. I probably look completely insane, all sweaty with my makeup all over my face, but I don’t care, because I feel that nuts over it. It’s a good reflection of what’s happening inside me. A lot of messy craziness that gets real loud sometimes.
I miss that person, but much more than that I miss the way it felt to love that person. I miss the way it felt to love someone so much that when they touch any part of you it feels like your ribcage is going to cave in and crush everything beneath it. I want it back.
Gobble gobble bitches #turkeyday #sisters (at The Bay Area… in general)
Cause gangster rap, that’s why…
I’m starving. You call it passion, but I think I’m just hungry for something that’s still breathing. You say I’m alive with the damn thing, but I see something else… This passion isn’t passion… It’s hunger. To eat something whole. To eat something that’s still living.
From @danedc #washyourface
I was in love once, despite what you say. I do know what that feels like… To be so completely enraptured by someone’s being that the mere presence of them sends electricity through your limbs. I was in love, and he loved me back for a time, and there was bliss in that… But there was misery too, is what I need you to understand. There was so much misery, even while it was happening. Even while he loved me back. I don’t want to love you, because I don’t want to love anyone. And maybe that’s selfish. Or maybe it’s cruel, and even a little naive, but I don’t know that I care, because I’ve never seen the need for me to do anything that I don’t want to do, and I don’t want to love anyone. I don’t want to be miserable, hoping and praying that things will be okay and we will be able to continue on loving each other, knowing that we probably won’t.
I was in love once, and he loved me back, and now he’s a ghost, and I love a ghost. That’s all I have room for anymore. Some vaporous myth within my body reminding me what love can do.
Yesterday I lost almost the entirety of my work over the last month of long hours because Microsoft is a piece of shit. Today is beautiful and I will make a new bulk because even Bill Gates can’t keep me down. 🍦
I can’t say I know. I don’t.
I won’t say I do. Cause I don’t.
But no matter how long I wait, or how many times I say to the night, bring him to me. Bring him down upon me. Let him be hole and complete in my body. Let him feel at home in my eyes. Let his existence finally ring true in my longing for his sounds, and his mouth, and the movements of his sleeping self… I am uninhibited here. A gasp in the darkness of a solitude I can’t abide. Alive in the sadness of nothing.
I miss him. I miss him.
This person I don’t know.
And I cast myself into the blank corners of my mind.
The places he cannot go.
So I can see nothing. And feel nothing. And be nothing
Until he is here.
Caroline Dupuy Heerwagen