But do you want to try this language with me?

You want words that are discrete, right? Definitely defined. Words that can be placed in your ABC categorized bookshelf, where fiction is neatly distinguished from reality. And there are no weeks without weekdays, no golden gardens or lovers who only live for 350 pages. No room for passionate faints, for unreason, for mornings that lasts forever.

How can there be hope if there's no fiction? How can love survive in spaces where there is nothing beyond immediate human perception? Say, do you not wish for something (else than this) for queen and country, for children of the next generation, for yearning hearts and unreasonable passion?

I wish I could sleep
longer in the mornings
at least until the clouds ascends
I wish I had a dog
that never left my side
not even for washroom trips
I wish I had a thinking jukebox
that played love songs all day long
(except on Thursdays
because that is laundry day)
I wish I wouldn't have to
wake up with heartache
or at least not the subtle kind

I wish a trip to South Africa
could be done in half an hour
from the other side of the globe
I wish I knew how many more minutes
I will breathe
so I can plan my future
I wish the maple leafs could be
red in the summer
so I could watch them get stuck
under my bare white feet
I wish I was forced to lie on the side
because my belly's grown into proportion

I wish I somehow
was able to give you the words
you need to hear
on a rainy afternoon
inside my brown room
on the street with no name

I do not think my reality is distorted. It is enriched, by beliefs that does not have a material manifestation. I choose my words carefully (they reflect a politics of love). Yet I do not feel sure that you understand them as I do. I try way too hard and get disappointed when I accidentally realize that we do not share the same linguistic universe. I feel deprived, stripped of my language, my shield, my skin. How will I ever convey something that demands more than my words to describe?