But Is It Art?

September 16, 2013 § Leave a comment

Now you love art
In a new way, distant
Removed from the witty unthinking remarks our other selves made
An age ago
It’s a private place
I can’t be there like you can
I am ever abandoned at the threshold
An uncertain child
Wishing to be let in, unsure of how to get in
Whirling through dusty emotions
Watching your back retreat into a hazy blur

You love art the way I have always loved words
Intrinsically, vitally
Could I paint a picture with words? – merge two overwhelming obsessions into one
And meet you in that new place
And not lose you to colours and lines and movement beyond my comprehension…

Nicole Best



September 12, 2013 § Leave a comment

She felt as though
Some vital thread in her head
Had pulled impossibly
Tight, vibrated almost imperceptibly with a sound just above the range of hearing
Of all the others
Paused in the longest second
And snapped, ends spiraling into the air like minute silk ribbons
Sending the very fabric of her being, woven even as it was with a warp and weft
Determined not to fray,
Unraveling frantically in dusty darkness as if millions of tiny invisible hands were
Feverishly picking and tugging at all the years of work
And turning one complete, pleasant, well-adjusted girl
Into a pile of useless, unconnected threads – taking her from something to nothing in less than a heartbeat.

Nicole Best

Where Am I?

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