Mitsukai's Literature Corner

Tribute to the Person I Love Most in the World

Birdsong. The tranquil sound carries through to me through the window and I’m drawn from the few moments of sleep I’ve managed to capture. My chest heaves and as it does I realise that the weight from before is gone. The panicked thought that he might be gone with it tears my tired eyes open, but I don’t move. I listen. I hear the clock ticking in the corner, ticking away seconds of my life that I know I’ll never be able to get back, but I don’t care. I hear the cat, grooming her own grey fur, her curved, polished talons clicking softly against the oak chest of drawers pressed up against the wall by the door. And finally, blessedly, I hear the sound I’ve been listening for since I awoke; breathing that isn’t my own, steady and gentle in sleep’s soft arms. I can feel his rhythmic breaths against the top of my head, ruffling my long dark hair as my eyes adjust to the large dark room. I roll over, allowing the bed sheets to brush against my bare torso with the movement, so that I can look into his sleeping face, cradled in a hazy embrace far more deep and peaceful than anything my ever-active mind can ever conjure. I raise my hand in order to stroke his tanned cheek and as I do so I feel the love and joy rise in my heart so much that it aches. Love and joy that he should find it in his delicate heart to love me for all my flaws, to remain by my side for all my antics and childish outbursts. To stand by me through the storms and to hold me through the pain. As I lower my head to kiss his warm cheek I think how lucky I am to call him mine. My lover, my beacon of hope, my fragile flower, my salvation.
My Panda.

Insanity

What is insanity?
Am I insane, and everybody else normal?
Or is it as my lover always says, that everyone thinking you're crazy is the sign of your being sane?
People say that imagination is the key to knowledge
Yet those whose minds are overflowing with creativity and imagined worlds are said to be insane.
If imagination and creativity are insanity
Then that creature haunts all the greatest minds in our world.
What is normal?
The people who spend their lives wishing for something more?
If insanity is trying to make those things real
Then I’ve got it bad.
Am I insane?

Kids from the Father's Point of View

When you marry you may think and even talk about having kids in the future. But the key words there are really in the future,
Then comes the shock; the surprise announcement: "I'm pregnant",
At first there's the surprise, the 'WTF did she just say?', maybe a little bit of excitement,
For a while there's a panic; a flurry of baby clothes and cots and prams, an avalanche of distant family members you've hardly heard of, and well-wishers,
Then come the hormones, the mood swings, the screamed "you don't have a clue what I'm going through here"s,
There's doubt: 'will I really be a good dad?' and to be honest your wife's too busy with her own problems to worry about yours,
You try books and pamphlets, but while they go into extensive detail as to what mum's supposed to do, there's a paragraph at most for you,
And then the announcement that sees you out of it for the rest of the day: "It's twins!",
And again there's the flurry of baby clothes and cots and prams, that avalanche of distant family members you've hardly heard of, and well-wishers,
And again there's the doubt, the wish for advisers,
But then come the scans, of course you're late again, your first sight of those fragile little lives,
There's love and there's confidence, 'I can do this', she's no need of the playfully threatened knives,
You grow used to the mood swings and the cravings, you start looking forward to what's coming as she sings and she twirls,
Endless lists of baby names; you want boys or girls?
Nappies, wipes, food, are you sure there's enough, do you need to go out?
You're broke, you're tired, you're close to collapsing, then comes her shout,
"TAKE ME TO THE F***ING HOSPITAL!", you have to be off,
The next few hours are agony for you as well as her, she screams, she swears, she squeezes your hand so tight you think it's going to drop off,
At last comes the sign that it's finally over; the shrieking cries of your delicate little flowers, a boy and a girl,
You take them in, the love's there again, things couldn't be better.

But then you start to realise just what you've signed on for,
You think you'll finally get a decent night's sleep without her constant complaints,
But then there's the screaming, the crying, the midnight feeds and changes,
You try to get a moment of peace but every second they're pining - you just can't say no,
You come home from a long exhausting day at work to collapse on the sofa, but only for a second, you know
Then again, there are good times, too,
Falling asleep with your angels beside you,
Feeling good about yourself as you watch them grow,
Perfect little beings with personalities of their own,
Nursery comes and they're screaming, they don't want you to leave,
Endless school runs and not a moment to breathe,
Sickness and health,
Poverty and wealth,
The tantrums and fights,
They won't sleep without the light,
You think you can manage but then,
"I'm pregnant again."

The Best of You

On a daily basis you ask me
What the thing I love most about you would be
I say “everything”, but you want specifics
But it’s not so hard, nothing scientific
I made a list of my favourite things
The things that would earn the envy of kings

I love the way you hold your hand in front of your face when you blush,
It makes my heart flutter like the wings of a thrush
You’re ever a surprise,
You hate your eyes;
One bottle green the other blue as the sea,
But I love them, they’re yours, they can’t be beat

I love the way you can always smile,
Though you’re going through hell and have been for a while
I love the way you don’t even notice
That you’re so much more beautiful than an Egyptian Lotus
The way you look at me, it drives me crazy
The way you smile makes my mind go hazy

But the thing I love most about you is
That you love me, I’m yours, no matter what anyone says
I love you more than anything, and I wouldn’t trade you,
Not for anything else in the world.

Dancing

I hate dancing. I've never been good at it, or enjoyed it. Watching it only makes me feel like I have two left feet. I've never really seen the point of it.
Pandora loves dancing. A broken leg that never healed has kept him from ever participating in the ... sport ... but I know how much he longs to do so.
The summer night is warm and still, the settling dusk cooling the earth after the heat of the day. I pull the dried laundry down from the line in the garden, folding it and dropping it down in the basket. When I'm done I take it inside, locking the door against the downside of summer - the gnats and other insects. I come into the hallway and slip out of my shoes before treading on the soft, thick carpet. As I take the first few steps in the direction of the kitchen, where I intend to sort the laundry into piles to put it away, I'm frozen to the spot as a soft, hesitant voice carries through to me from the kitchen.
♫"-ople say, happiness takes, so very long to find..."♫ Frowning slightly at the unexpected sound of my lover singing Barry Manilow, I put the basket down on the stairs and make my way to the open kitchen door. Pandora has his back to me, standing at the kitchen table, writing or doodling on a scrap of paper as he sings quietly to himself, probably not even aware he's doing it. As he continues the song I come up behind him, and raise my own voice to sing with him.
♫"Well I'm finding it hard, leaving your love behind, me..."♫ I feel him jerk in surprise, tailing off in the middle of the line as I wrap my arms around him tightly, burying my face in his soft, sweet-smelling blonde hair. He twists around to look at me uncertainly, and I rub his arm encouragingly, prompting him to carry on singing with me. ♫"And I can't smile without you..."♫
We dance then. We dance together as we sing. Everything else forgotten while we do, we smile, we laugh, we hold each other close.
Like I was saying, I love dancing.

Nothing Romantic

There was nothing romantic about it;
I was visiting my aunt with my girlfriend, he was lying on her sofa, bored; a strange boy I had never even heard of before. He’d looked up at us with his mismatched eyes like we’d come purely to destroy his peace. I thought he was a little ... weird.
There was nothing romantic about it;
I’d blurted it out without thinking. He’d blinked a couple of times while the words of my sudden love confession sunk in. Then he stared at me for a few minutes, and nodded, as the sound of the baby crying tore through the otherwise silent room.
There was nothing romantic about it;
No ring, no kneeling, no warning. A spur of the moment decision I asked him while we were walking home together. His eyes had widened in shock and his step had momentarily faltered, and finally he had smiled.
There was nothing romantic about it;
A family affair, we didn’t even dance, just chatted as people offered their congratulations, his step-mother got drunk and danced with every available man, and my brother made fun of us in his best-man’s speech.
There was nothing romantic about it;
We drove until we were too tired to drive anymore, pulled in to an old motel on the side of the road I don’t even remember the name of, if I ever knew, and made love to each other until the first rays of sunlight poked through a crack in the curtains.
There was nothing romantic. About any of it.
But looking back on it,
It’s been some of the most romantic moments of my life.

Lantern

The evening was still, its soft scent leaking in through the open door that lead out to the balcony. The sounds of the city far below us drifted up to us. I dropped my cigarette in the ash tray on the table as I watched Pandora. He was standing out on the balcony, left leg stretched out at an awkward angle as he supported himself with the rail, his crutch leaning against the wall by the sliding glass doors. He had a glass of coke in his hand – fizzy drinks are the only things he’ll drink. I was inside, leaning back against the kitchen table, a glass of wine in my hand, looking between him and the bright red liquid as I trailed my wet forefinger along the rim of the glass, the musical sound filling the small apartment we shared. The children were in bed and for once everything was peaceful. We were both dressed in suits after the funeral that had taken place earlier that day, and there was something somber about Pandora as he stood there, eyes closed, breathing in the scent of the growing dusk.
“Are you ready?” I asked him as he came back inside, taking his drink from him and setting both on the table when he nodded, and picking up the paper sky lantern that lay beside them. I wrapped an arm around him tightly as we walked outside together, pressing my lips against his forehead reassuringly.
“I never knew her.” He told me softly as we came to the balcony. “Is that a bad thing?”
“That was her fault.” I reminded him as he took the lantern so I could dig in my pockets for my cigarette lighter. “She gave you up, Pan. She doesn’t deserve you.” He managed a small smile as I wrapped my arms around him from behind, and he held the lantern for me while I lit it. “Ready?” I asked him gently, returning the lighter to my pocket and holding the lantern with him. He nodded and we released it, and we watched as it bobbed a bit before floating up to the dusky stars, I hold him tightly as it fades away into the distance.

I love the things you write about me

That's why I write them

I have written one new thing, but I don't think it's appropriate for a family forum. You know what it is sweetie
Anyway, I'll try to write something to post here later on.