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Monday, December 12, 2011

The Diary of Henri



   She is the moon to my night sky.

She is the only one that makes me feel whole.

And when she walks into a room..I smell her hair on the cool night  breeze. It smells of tangerines.

I take her in and I want her every caress..I notice her eyes. Because she always looks down when she walks..She doesn't want anyone to see her pain, she told me.

I want to touch her but I wait...

She dresses in clothes that would look good on no one but her. Flannel shirts over her blue jean dress..Her hair pulled back in multicolored rags. She takes my breath away.

And at times when she walks through the room she will have her sheer green nightdress on..The on that falls off  her creamy shoulders. And once again I remember why I fell in love with her.

She doesn't know I keep a diary..All about her.

I can't tell her. My love is great but I cannot let it show. She has been hurt. But so have I.

My heart ripped out with a wound so deep I can hardly breath most days.

At night I watch her sleep before I drift off, and I pray for her..Her nightmares are nightly. Fighting off some unknown assailant from her past. And at that time I want to time travel and beat down all the people who have ever hurt her..She never sees me cry. But when she is asleep I do. Not to manly to admit, I guess. But my tears for her are real. They are out of my need for us both to be whole. To be free.

When I feel like I have no heart..She warms it and reminds me, yes I do.

And I worry..Will I lose her to death? Will she someday become to tired of fighting that she finally does it?

Oh God, I pray she does not. I need her, I need her.

She has loved me more than anyone I have ever known. She does not ask me for things..But I want to give to her. My heart, my soul, my spirit, my life. But I can't say it. The words are frozen in my throat like blocks of ice. I can barely tell her she is pretty..It is my pride.

What if I do tell her..And she sees that as power over me? I was raised to keep everything in..Pain, Heartbreak, passion, Love.

                                            Henri

(a work of fiction)

by Nita Zimmerman - Skibinski

1 comment:

Out on the prairie said...

An interesting read, light and enjoyable.I noticed your persona immediatly.

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I love beauty, whether it is in nature, literature or art. And I love music... My day feels incomplete if I haven't had a chance to listen to some good music.. I also love beautiful souls, and kind hearts.

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“To love means loving the unlovable. To forgive means pardoning the unpardonable. Faith means believing the unbelievable. Hope means hoping when everything seems hopeless.”
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