Read Online Monochrome by H.M. Jones - Free Book Online Page B

Though, in reality, she was physically beautiful. I believe she was among the first few good memories I gave up. And, as you know, once you give up one good memory of a person, the memories attached to them are all impacted in some way, so it just seemed like a good idea to keep giving memories of her rather than memories of all the people I cared about.”
    Abigail couldn’t bear to think of what good memories Ishmael lost, and what good memories she might lose. She no longer wanted to talk about loss at all, and she was making him more morose than normal, so she changed the subject. “So…what’s the other poem?”
    “What?”
    “The other Coleridge poem you said you know by heart.”
    He hmmmed in the back of his throat. “Well, it’s kinda long. Let’s see if you can guess from some of my favorite lines.” He cleared his throat, and an aspect of child-like excitement and pride came over him. She almost laughed to see it, but she didn’t want to hear her laughter echo in the silence of the blue forest.
    He looked past Abigail while he recited.
    “A grief without a pang, void, dark and drear,
    A stifled, drowsy, unimpassioned grief,
    Which finds no natural outlet, no relief,
    In word, or sigh, or tear.”
    His true smile dimpled his cheeks and revealed even teeth.
    God, he was handsome. She beamed, not sure whether she appreciated his smile or his choice of poetry more. “’Dejection.’ A good one to keep, especially here, though those are not my favorite lines.”
    Ishmael’s black eyes glimmered. “No? Enlighten me.”
    She paused and flourished her arm. He rolled his eyes but his body automatically leaned towards hers. She dropped her arm and shut her eyes to better remember the words.
    “My genial spirits fail;
    And what can these avail
    To lift the smothering weight from off my breast?
    It were a vain endeavour,
    Though I should gaze for ever
    On that green light that lingers in the west:
    I may not hope from outward forms to win
    The passion and the life, whose fountains are within.”
    She opened her eyes to see his face warm in pleasure.
    He raised his eyes, which sparkled. “You cheated. That’s a few lines.”
    Abigail floundered. “Sorry. I can’t choose. The entire poem is just…” She paused for the right words. “Coleridge just wrote so perfectly how I feel, you know? I feel out of reach from what I desire. Unable to contain or feel the beauty I see around me…So far beyond the joy of life, which I want to experience, but can’t for some reason. I read and write poetry because I feel so alone, sometimes. No one I know ever reacts as volatilely or depressed as I do in ordinary situations. But some of these men and women, they just know . They get it…”
    She trailed off, feeling vulnerable and silly. Ishmael didn’t answer right away, but his face spoke for him. It was practically glowing. And his eyes! The black was held at bay by curious dancing flecks of green.
    She shook her head in amazement. “I know I sound ridiculous.”
    “No, you don’t. Not at all. And, yes, I know what you mean.”
    Ishmael took off his hat and ran his hand through his hair. “That’s why I keep it. It comforts me to know someone, even if he’s long dead, can understand how I feel and can write it so perfectly. It’s not a super happy poem, and maybe I should’ve reserved my memories for happy things, but happy isn’t always the most comforting.”
    She offered small, sad smile. “Especially when happiness is so foreign.”
    He shook his head in disbelief. “How the hell do you know so much Coleridge? I’ve never met another person who quotes Coleridge and I used to know some pretty dorky people.”
    “I am an English lit major. I’ll be finishing my Master’s next month, if I make it back. I like Romantic poetry, poetry generally.”
    He stared at her in disbelief, his mouth falling open. “ When you make it back. Wow, I’ve never guided another lit person! A physics guy, a philosophy