Eau Volée: Paths

An imaginary tune 'sembling George Michael's careless whisper  plays in the background

Head raised, eyes aiming, finding. Lips speaking, eyes smiling. Hands searching for new words; they are taut, concise in their approach, as if to make at ease, a show of kindness, a solidarity of some sort. I find this rather ballsy and arrogant. Some boardroom type confidence.

Lips still speaking, eyes jumping. Lips break in a smile.

Yellow, the colour of sunshine: also, the African man's definition for light skin. Perhaps we should stick with yellow being the colour of sunshine.

There's certainly a certain yellow tan missing on the fourth, I conclude, but I'll pretend you never wore one.

Your shot, I see it. It is faint, almost as if it never was.

A pallet of browns will make this painting much easier to appreciate. A little mocha here, a little umber there, some hickory pecan a top, a touch of caramel across the torso and a splash of choco right there... even coal might do the trick.

I venture into your mind's space, i shouldn't do this, still it feels right: I ought to know you for me, i convince myself.

I kiss at carefully lived memories. I wish if only for a day to be in the new ones you tell, I whisper in a disarray of confused expressions. I come a little closer and I am trapped in a mirage. This new territory comes with adventures laden with achievements. Not the sort for bucket lists, chicken hearted or those who only seek war spoils. Yet a safe haven will be seeking war spoils and enjoying the adventures that come along the way. Anything else will be suicidal. 

You see the thing about my face, it speaks the words I sometimes withhold. It is the most expressive one you will ever behold. It is also the most deceitful. It gives me away too quickly. Just as it is swift to betray me, it turns back and haunts all who behold it. The lies it so carefully hides behind a perfected smize. It knows neither friend nor foe. It has a mind of its own. It mirrors your thoughts. It tells you or should I say, shows you what you want to see. You read nervousness, it camouflages my need to be lost in thoughts, and shows you nervousness. Oh I might share that my face does not know when I am afraid or nervous. My hands are the go to guys for that. I sweat and chew at my nails. My face for lack of an activity, mimics what it thinks should be fear or nervousness. It knows pain. It remembers this so well that it would rather hide it at the back of my head. My eyes forget that they should be on the same page. My face however, still thinks itself important, as such I should conquer the world and forget about it. It carries on fine, I gather. 

A fake smile for those who insist on it; my eyes frown.

A classic glare for when I am irritated, my eyes are confused and look in fifty directions.

A straight face to keep the haters at bay or for when I am in no mood to make conversation, my eyes look downward.

A matter of fact look for when the need requires, my eyes look above the head. They remember I was once a shy child.

A knowing smile for those close and my lips twitch, my almost absent right dimple makes an appearance and my eyes laugh. This bores my face, as quickly as it makes an appearance, it disappears. I think my face is mean. 

I do not know what to make of you when we meet besides the fact that you are overbearing, insistent and in my face. My face however understands that you are the one we need to please. It fights my mind's need to speak the truth. You think me nervous, it feigns a search for confidence. My head laughs irritated. My eyes try to concentrate. I wish you will just go away.