You talk about Daniel, dancing. How he was beautiful and nonchalant, how he was slinking so close to the earth. How yet he was lifted, birdlike, transcendent, clawing for clouds with skinny hands. Shoulders low, hips slung slow. Fingers sprawled for heaven.
I loved the way you told the world, because it was how I saw it, too. You said you were just a hick from Ottawa, but that’s not how I would have described you. And if it was true, well, so what? You had an abracadabra I couldn’t get rid of even after all the things you’ve done. Even now.
You told me once that the only difference between you and me was that I would love a nightclub that played nothing but Fleetwood Mac and you would hate it.
If anyone ever asks me who knew me more than anybody, I still say your name.
Still, you don’t know where I am, and I do not know where you are. Maybe it was always this way, and we just didn’t know how it was. This chasm felt impossible since that first time since I showed up on your doorstep, needy, and the last time you showed up on mine, undone.
How did we get this lost? We weren’t, were we, way back when, then, when we weren’t just friends and weren’t lovers and we didn’t know what we were, but it wasn’t this, this nothingness, this strange space of nowhere, this being nobody. Now I am unwritten, because you cannot find me.
Lorette C. Luzajic is the editor of The Ekphrastic Review, an online journal dedicated to writing inspired by art. Her own poetry has appeared in several hundred online and print publications, including Indelible, Wild Word, Nine Muses Poetry, Misfit Magazine, Cultural Weekly, Black Coffee Review, Heart of Flesh, and more. She was twice nominated last year for a Pushcart Prize, as well as for Best of the Net. She is currently at work on her fifth collection of poetry, her second ekphrastic book. Visit her at http://www.mixedupmedia.ca.