For Her; the Mirror of my Valentine; pastels by pauldrobertson

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For Her; the Mirror of my Valentine; pastels by 

Pastels on light pastel paper, beige-y colour. dimpled. like me.

90 × 60 cm
sort of…

I wrote this to/of/about my ex-fiance… It started as an edit of an old and abject piece of writing until i realized that I was writing of her and only her. Little remains of the old version.

Less remains of her and I. She is lost to me. I miss her. I miss her. I miss her.

For her, for her, noble and flush with courage a goddess of will an immolation extant endless pain, pain fire-forged and hurt and hurt and hurt so it breaks my heart i weep for her and weep for her yet.

I have a huge lack of understanding.
That sentence was supposed to continue, but stopped somehow. Burns me up. You even have Cat In The Hat Pajamas, giant stripy socks, a storm-trooper helmet!
I mean, how cool is that?
So. Today is a day for honest extremity. I want you BACK, want you here, want you sweaty smiling and exhausted in my bed. I have seen your hands, your arms, your fey form entire – a stunning sweetness incarnate but the scars such scars, oh my love.
I held your hand for those moments and the ferocity of your need left soft drying smears on my fingers.
If we can’t… if you are too broken… if we have to let that hunger and need slip from us like the years we have lost… oh no oh my love, no…
Skid sharp away from each other? Like the beauty that once preceded you (it lingers still as mine own skitters dying into the sun); each step you take easing each door open before you. I have the grace of a hunched stagger, leaking cigarette smoke and exhaustion.
If we can’t… and it curls and curdles into unloveliness. Like the tight line of your frightened lips. Like the broken veins in my nose. Like our scars. Like my teeth, rotting from some obscure reaction to one of the medications.
I want to be


How often do you lie a day? Think about it.
Fire your heart with the scene of you, and I;
Coming to each other and saying:
“Well, today, I really thought about suicide, and I had to make myself eat even though it made me want to puke. I felt each movement I took as a jarring blow. I spoke to other people… other creatures in the world even though I could not find my breath and I gasped and clenched my uncertain weak fists. I still spoke because I had to I had to and I stuttered and the rope the knife the swell rotten and sweet in every turn and thought, the fear booming in my heart shivering through my curled tiny feet as I step through the world.
“But I am alive and I have my hands before me and my scars are old. I have lied well enough, for this time at least.
“I thought it took all the strength that I have to do these things, but it took more to tell them to you.”
Speaking truths to each other! without pre-amble! or any kind of ambling! (ambling is just NOT on the cars!) Imagine!
Want to come around..?
We could compare remembered fantasies about all that we thought we’d be and aren’t. We could talk about the kids we might have had by now if we had have screwed up a little more seriously than we were lucky we didn’t. We could… we could…
We could!
No. Really. Chance it. Open the inlaid box with all the warnings and ‘do not open before lunchtime’ stickers. The one graven with runes its black skin seething with glyphs, arcane and wicked. Open it, all of your will and the enormity of your courage mean nothing, NOTHING, if we are dust! If we miss it.

If we miss it, babe, oh… no.

Can you still see me? with all that life getting in your eyes?
Have you seen this?
As my sweet skin loosens? As I fade and gray before your eyes?

Do you know me?

Can we heal enough, in the sweat slickened raptures of summer lust, to eat from each other’s bodies?

In each other?

Can anyone?

I have been writing my novel, which is so exciting i made my cat throw up last chapter I finished. Um… I spun her around saying “YAY!” too much. so i haven’t been painting anywhere near as much as i like to. (I’ve also been realllllllly sick. oh well.) Apart from painting I have a side-line in cat straightening – an uncommon skill that i learned in a dzong in Bhutan.

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  • Vesna *
    Vesna *almost 4 years ago


    GEORGE SANDERSONalmost 4 years ago

    Wonderful imaginatve piece, Paul !

  • Azellah
    Azellahalmost 4 years ago

    This is so beautiful…

  • lilynoelle
    lilynoellealmost 4 years ago

    I liked this right away; glad to see it’s your work!

  • Avalone
    Avalonealmost 4 years ago

    Beautiful image. Your words, so honest, I felt to the core.

  • lilynoelle
    lilynoellealmost 4 years ago

  • LittleHelen
    LittleHelenalmost 4 years ago

    wow..Paul, this is beautiful.

  • linaji
    linajialmost 4 years ago

    Good God, I am in tears.. I want her back for you too… wow .. now you are really something with this art and with these words.. I want them all back for you.. all the smiles that seemed missed when gone..
    What a way to meet you!

  • Deborah Lazarus
    Deborah Lazarusalmost 4 years ago

  • Andrew Simoni
    Andrew Simonialmost 4 years ago

    real sick picture

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