Her Face, in the Movies

Disclaimer – I am drugged, and this may make no sense.

But it what it is.

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When watching that crucial moment in a movie, and you find yourself sat on the edge of your chair-your face leant forward, almost pressed onto the screen, engrossed in what is about to take place; its the moments like these where you unconsciously learn the small micro expressions and tell tale lines that flash across the face you ware watching. These unintended signals that tell you everything. What you learn evolves into an affectionate recognition. The smiles and the downward looks as they think about what to say next. And even better, the laughter where the head gets thrown back and the arms and hands come up in joyful openness.

Her hoodie trying to hide her morning hair and the crazy faces frozen in time for long enough moments to cause a giggle. Excited eyes telling me excited stories. I love this girl.

You are my favourite movie. The supporting actor is the veteran who vacuums his lawn, and on occasion the tangents we go off onto (totally having to pause the actual thread of the movie).

A bear, in a cinema chair, with a box of popcorn.

Wanna go on a date with me?

Plaster Hand.

I have this plaster hand…
Likened to yours;
Hanging above the kitchen door…
The one we made so long ago…
On Christmas Eve Day, just bored…
I have a poem written…
By your tiny hand;
As tiny as the one that hangs…
Above the kitchen door frame…
It says “Mommy I Love You”…
And the Gods help me…
If when I pass it by, I don’t hear the words…
In a sigh, a whispering…
I keep a tiny, silver jewelry box…
The one you saved up for;
Inscribed across the dusty top …
Is chiseled in, beautifully:
“I Love You Mommy”…
And “Mommy” dies a little more…
I have all these haunting memories…
Of having future plans;
Fulfilling hopes and dreams…
Just you and I surviving…
Getting back up to stand…
I saved these Christmas things…
Yours and mine;
Stored away like a box to mourn…
Every year, when it’s opened again…
And looks the same…
As the years before…
I held on to your special ornaments…
All of them;
Though I never hang them high…
I never get a tree anymore…
I see no reason why…
But I keep these things…
To remind myself…
Of the twinkle lost to my eye…
I held on to so many things…
Of yours;
Desperately trying…
To keep you somehow, near…
Closer at least…
Than wherever you are…
I have this little butterfly wing…
You brought home;
You flew it behind you like a kite…
A colorful ghost that chased you…
Right out of second grade…
I find these notes you wrote…
To me; To Mommy;
They read your apologies…
For spilling toothpaste on the rug…
And I want to come find you wherever you are…
And tell you that rug never mattered to me.