The Great Gatsby

The Story hung on me like the most terrible hangover. Many doors opened but the weight of it was hard to render into words. Sights seen and responses heard vary to every viewer. The power of a movie over me as though the version of me that sat in the seat while the beginning introduced us to the characters was not the same as the version of me that left bewildered by the time credits rolled. The old woman’s soul who responded to my breath as we left could not explain how much I disdained the way the story came to a close. Much like we closed the door to the car only to travel as far as she letting me off to wander the sidewalk to my door. I could not break another heart. I started remembering the beginning of every story I had walked my clumsy way through. I viewed the you inside the truth. The perception is all we have left when breast has become bereft and all that is cleft has been torn asunder. I wonder why love has to hurt so much. And I truly believe that if we all would see that it was only worth it if it leaves us in one piece. Pieces of the puzzle turned to rubble when children lose fathers and daughters lose mothers. We seem to uncover the mystery in someone else’s eyes. Cries left unheard. We unearth dark waters in the passage of an ocean liner. Inside winding its confident way: our destiny remembers all we are about to do and say. What volition will I follow today? I am the weeping of your deepest untold secret. I am the marking of your flesh when the pain is all you have left. I am the soft melody of my niece’s first stroke of my piano. I am the soprano in your voice when you have no choice left but to sing. Sing for all it is worth because the music is our birth. We are the rapid rising of the rain after all the waters of the heaven have chosen to fall again. I am beaten up and maintained by the love in your eyes for me. Why do we choose to ignore the alternative? Why do we refuse to give it our best because the left fork in the road consumes the marrow of our soul? We roll on out of control wondering what blessings this path might bestow? I am holding back nothing. I am the truth in the speaking. I am the reaping of the season. I am the heathen who is aware of all they are about to lose. I choose you. Where does that leave us?