Pieces

Photo©Nevit Dilmen (talk)

837px-love_heart_broken-svg

Pieces of a memory, a card, your name,

because you couldn’t bear that I might not know.

Only pieces because I didn’t want your gift,

all the softness and the sweetness

and the giving and the pleasing,

the pink, quilted satin lovehearts,

the cringing, squirming cuteness.

I didn’t want your face stuck onto mine,

your eyes full of me and nothing else,

your hand in mine, to follow where I led.

Sometimes it has to hurt to be worthwhile,

sometimes crying helps to know the other side,

to delve and dive deep into darker places,

to soothe the scars and learn to love the flaws.

With you, I feared, behind the tender goo,

I would find only nylon fluff and glue.

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Published by

Jane Dougherty

I used to do lots of things I didn't much enjoy. Now I am officially a writer. It's what I always wanted to be.

4 thoughts on “Pieces”

  1. lovely expression – oops, no pun intended – well written expression of the feelings of being “moon struck” in love and knowing it’s just a passing phase …. there is nothing but fluff and it is not enough ….

    (please forgive any peculiar puns – it’s early hours here and I’ve had a terrible overnight)

    I really like how this piece flows – but this part here – gets to the heart (okay damn it! I admit – I can’t stand Valentine’s and all the smarm before hand much less on the day) of it:

    your eyes full of me and nothing else,
    your hand in mine, to follow where I led.
    Sometimes it has to hurt to be worthwhile,
    sometimes crying helps to know the other side,
    to delve and dive deep into darker places,
    to soothe the scars and learn to love the flaws.

    really wonderful exploration on one of the faces of “love” Jane 🙂

    1. Thank you! I’m glad it didn’t come over as entirely cynical. This ia s portrait of one of my first boyfriends. He looked like an angel, blond curly hair and blue eyes and he was studying engineering. My grandma said he was nice but wet. She’d taught his father who was also wet. My grandma liked her men tough, able to stand up for themselves and not need a permanent shoulder to cry on. She was all for equality, didn’t see why women should be able to boss their men around 🙂

      1. well you know, young love and all that – and there is nothing wrong with men being sensitive, but there is a huge difference between being too sentimental and lost in the fog – which even if the initial attentions and affections are pleasing and attractive, tend to wear thin quickly. And of course, it works both ways. 🙂

      2. I was surprised at myself. He was a dream, gentle, sensitive (to a point) lovely to look at, the perfect gentleman, but…but… I realized at eighteen I didn’t want a perfect gentleman. I didn’t want to be the one to always take the initiative. I wanted him to show a bit of spirit, disagree, argue. He never did. he was sensitive on the surface but completely inert underneath, couldn’t tell that he bored me rigid. I found his opposite, tough as nails on the outside, sensitive as babies on the inside. And will argue the hind leg off a donkey. Suits me fine. Still.

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