I’m in the process of inventing a person

I’m in the process of inventing a person.
He was with me a time, in flesh,
heating my blood,
caressing my hair,
enclosing my hands with his perfect pair.

But he has been gone for a while
and I am left alone
with this mere handful of memories.

So I am inventing a companion to fill in the gaps.

What will happen when you return?
Will I love you more than my invention, or less?
This is the danger of imagination.

So many possibilities, so few realities.

But I have been living in my imagination my entire life.
I invented a family that loved me:
a father who embraced me;
a mother who caressed me;
brothers who didn’t betray;
a life of harmony, of laughter,
of gentle, kind words.

But that never existed.

And I believe it made the reality that much harder to bear:
the screaming and shouting;
the iron finger in my chest;
the hard grasp, cruel words, cold looks;
compassionless reactions;
slammed doors, desperate tears.

Living in my imagination hasn’t been easy.
It made me resent all the more where I really was.

So perhaps with you, I won’t live in my imagination.

I will be where I am:
here, in Granada,
in spring,
with blooming flowers,
afternoon showers,
flowing rivers,
singing birds,
bamboo in the breeze,
and sunshine on my naked skin.
Without you.


Donia Lilly
15 April 2007