Words by: Lily Anna Art by: Stephania Paul
On Being Stubborn and Brand New
Our discussions came to a close a while ago now,
The temperatures were rising,
Triggering warning signs, too hot for human condition.
Causing a surge in the frequency of unwanted questions and forbidden anxieties,
And if I may speak candidly for a moment:
Whilst the records stay on repeat,
Same thoughts, same monologue, same habits.
I beg a question that feels far too childish to say aloud but I will anyway,
Are you the one? The profound thing everyone tells me exists, yet I cannot find anywhere?
Is this it?
All that you are is an external extension of all that I am,
and I’m unsure if I like what it brings to the surface.
So far, my life has been a crochet of phases of young love, heartbreak and the in-between,
Wanting to so desperately reach out and touch.
To taste the sweetness, you can’t rush.
I want it but I mustn’t be impatient,
So instead I’ll become a spectator with an average view.
I’ll adopt a new manner,
I’ll adorn myself in new clothing and fine phrases
In attempts to appeal to someone that isn’t you or him or a distant memory.
Blue Moon Rising
Once in a blue moon I feel like this. Bar stool, curved spine.
Sipping on red wine with darting eyes, Waiting for the right guy.
Third times a charm,
It’s an age to fit in — for connection.
But that’s a question I’ve left to burden me and is still undecided.
A European confidence slips in,
A part of myself that got drained in the big smoke. I forgot about her.
I like her.
And in the incandescence of warm embrace,
With a fearsome gurgling pressed in your stomach,
Hoping that this time the meaning won’t be jaded.
For Letting Go of Love Before It Sours
I speak of lovers like dear old friends,
Not because I cannot let go,
Because I choose to remember them fondly.
Of their little habits and dirty afflictions,
Things that were distinctly them, written within their code.
How we would walk down dimly lit streets,
Bellies full of laughter and our minds blank of anxieties. How we cradled one another,
Only to fight like children at the most obscene things. The corners of my eyes attached to my phone,
Waiting for a reply from you,
But you were a season within me, not a lifetime,
And that’s something to give into.
We played our parts in the allure of a night forthcoming,
Dressing up in the name of sensuality and mutual connection.
More or less, I no longer care,
Instead I remind myself:
If I were to think of you unkindly,
When all I felt and still feel is such warmth and honesty toward you,
It’d be a disservice to both of us.