Chris Milne Writes: Poetry, Philosophy and Essays

Stumbling into the future,
Like the boulder rolling down the hill
At the end of a long day. 

I find myself encaged;
Trapped in the momentum of our moment.
Can’t you smell it in the air?

My inability to step outside myself,
To hand a part of myself over
To the gravity of love:
I’m a caged bird. 

For when I look into the eyes of a lover,
I see in that coy smile, a distant dream:

I see our first date; a shared connection in time and space, connecting our stories to history.
I see the look on her face when I first hold her hand; the elating sensation of the binding of our bodies. 
I see the walk home after late night conversations; the fatigued yet fulfilled stroll to our departure – yet a feeling of longing, knowing that it is just the beginning.
I see our first kiss; the moment when you pull back,
and smile uncontrollably at the beauty of removing the space between our lips. 
I see our first night in bed; the laughter at the awkwardness and wondrousness,
of mingling our bodies, the fighting against that force which keeps us apart with each thrust of our hips. 
I see our first fight: the frustrated face and snarling sounds of wanting things one way, yet, that not being the case.
I see our first make up; the torrent of tears that caress her supple cheek, the divine embrace of deciding to forgive for better times to come.

In essence, I see a future so clearly bright – partly, that is just in my eyes, but I see it in hers too.
Yet, it does not feel right.

For in this moment of time, just as the dagger on my chest,
My capacity to love is bound in semi-closed hands.
It is melded into a future place, like the ink that depicts my view:
I just cannot rest. 

For that which I love is yet to come.
Not a person whose world has not collided with mine.
It is a place where we are all going,
A future in time.