The Guide Book for Bad Cyclists
They say love is blind,
As blind as a girl cycling through the rain with no helmet on,
And that was me,
When I first lay eyes on you.
A girl cycling through a hurricane.
I was never good with directions. But
when you traced a map between my hips,
I knew the only right turn was the one to you.
For a while, we kept the outside out.
I wrote in big letters: NO INTRUDERS ALLOWED, signed
with the stain of my red lipstick. We hid
underneath the layers of our tremendous fort
and I felt safe enveloped in your arms.
But someone should have told me,
that all the love in the world,
cannot fix a broken soul. Yours
was the most beautiful wreckage,
my hands had ever managed to replenish.
For a while, it was as blissful as soft white sheets and warm cups of tea.
I was so caught up in you – an impossible knot – one arm gripping you,
begging you not to go. The other grasping at the string wrapped around my throat.
I was walking on a tightrope to get to you and as I took my final
step, you cut me loose. And then you became the glue,
that put the parts of me back together.
You kept my heart in your back pocket and
occasionally, when it would stop beating,
your lips would venture down through the caves
and sip from my tepid pool.
My heart throbs manically in its denim cage once more.
They say love is blind – but is it deaf too?
Because every night when you told me you loved me,
I was sure it was true. You planted
sunflower seeds within my heart, but I cried all the water away.
Now they are rotten and falling apart.
Tear-stained papers scribbled with the faintest evidence of your name,
tiny black hairs resting on my pillow case,
the empty bottle of your favourite aftershave,
the image of your face slowly slipping away into the arms of yesterday.
My love was blind,
as blind as a girl cycling in the rain with no helmet on.
But if she kept on cycling through that storm,
eventually she would fall,
– searching for a love –
that was there within herself all along.
Now, I never forget to put my helmet on.