My Dear NevermindMy Dear Nevermind.
You keep on lingering on the edges of consciousness. Please, come in and make yourself at home. The minor key symphonies are not meant to be dark and foreboding but mysterious and entrancing. The sung prayers and pleas are not as dark and terrifying as you think. In fact my soul just swims in them like I paint a layer of matte black over too bright gilt. Half of my tears, dearest Nevermind, are because I love to swim the black velvet halls. The other half are because you won't come in and hold my hand. Come in, come in, I've made suicide hot chocolate, death by satin, by decadence and woodwinds.
Is that too morbid a metaphor? Please, don't leave. Let me explain.
It is the death of forgetfulness, of freedom. It is the pinnacle of life in the nuptial bed that makes you dead to the world. It's death only in that it's life so vibrant what we have now is dead.
I know, you need to leave. I am babbling and don't make sense, do I? Please. Wait.
Let me play this song. It says
In the night...Observe how the tears well up and up and up until everything is viewed from behind a hazy crystal filter, before you sweep the offenders down your cheeks with kohl smudges and cynical smiles. Stranger things have happened in your late night fantasies and nightmares. Drift far and away to clamber the ramparts of ruralistic castles, plateaus formed of hay bales and wooden knight swords. Yes, my lovely, you look nice. Sing the mucus out of your voice and start stamping out the fires that are springing up and up and up in your eyes. Read of happily ever afters and true love. Hope and hope and hope onwards...it may take a while. The goal of hopes is so distant: second star to the right, straight on through the looking glass to wonderland.
SanctusInhale the pefumes and spices, faint reminders of the regalities that are lost in your mundane utilitarian life. Do you hear the bells? There are heavy strikes of metal on metal lost in the ringing. It is ancient and violent. And beautiful. There are voices singing in ragged unison, and it is still glorious. On the edges of our suspended reality, the supernatural is waiting waiting, waiting. And then he enters. We could be seen as extraordinarily deluded. But we know. This is the greatest mystery of the universes, which makes all come to fruition and reality. It rationalizes prayers for the people who have broken you into a thousand peices. It understand the hopes that cause weeping for fear they are false. This is the threshhold to revelation. The window to the incarnate. It is holy, this life.
ReflectionsThe sky was painted in the reflection of your glasses. You thought I was gazing into your eyes, but I was really watching the sunset. There were pools of golden light, and cloud formations like distant foggy shores. I wondered: if I had Pegasus, could I fly over those golden waters to those shores and so reach heaven?
From the shores of sunset would I see you, watching the skies, waiting for me?
Then you did something- made me laugh, brushed my lips with yours, or slyly tickled me, I don't remember- and I looked past the dying sky.
Your eyes are brilliantly alive when you say 'I love you'.
what if, what if, what if...What if, what if, what if...
My hand is cold.
I can't help but wonder.
What if we were side by side, your arms around me?
Do your fingers know the songs to play on the ivories of my skin?
Would they be the same songs I have heard over and over again?
Or would you play a new melody, a tune without true end?
My hand is still cold
Are your hands warm?
Or do they have the quiet coolness I find in my own digits?
Your eyes what colors would I find there?
Are they icy steely grays and blues or warm brown and hazel?
What if, what if, what if
Story continuedTonight the winds are finally changing. There seems to be an actual bite instead of the playful nips. It has been raining for a few days, but with the icy wind is coming some sunlight at last. It seems to me to be an oxymoron. Sunshine should bring warmth and life. Not frost and elephant ears withering.
It always makes me sad, when the elephant ears wither. They used to make tents and jungle tents, and then they are shriveling up into neat rolls as if to say that summer is well and truly over.
But the sunlight is still there, and even though it's lying, it is nice to think that it is actually summertime in the clouds.
I don't know what it was that made me stare. He wasn't an athlete. He wasn't one of the student artists who seemed to make a point of putting as much paint and gunk on his person as on a canvas. There was no distinguished look to him. His clothing was almost carefully nondescript. Maybe it was his eyes.
I know, that is horribly cliché. About as cliché as P
A story beginningThe end-of-November tears fall with icy sighs. All around the world, limited to the vague surroundings, lovers copulate, fight, dance and laugh in their own little worlds. The petty strivings of these brief shells of lives don't mean much to me and my kind. They bloom and fade all too quickly. They are mere shadows before the dawn. Nothing. To actually care for one of these transient beings would be unheard of. We live among them and watch them, shallowly interacting, mingling in their businesses, schools, governments.
I always thought it was like trying to mix water and oil.
We always rise to the top and watch them evaporate away.
That is how it is.
That is how it has always been.
That is how it should never be.
That late autumn evening, I was walking back to my apartment after my classes at the university. Even though I am above humans, I have always been interested by their strange penchant for learning. It makes them almost seem like they could be capable of something great a
MomentsIn my own little world, I laughed.
The end-of-November tears fell with icy sighs. All around the world, limited to the vauge surrundings, lovers copulate, fight, dance and laugh in their own little worlds.
I laughed as I passed like a transient time lord through damp leaves and past empty playgrounds.
I smiled as I glided past rivals and realized that they suddenly meant little.
I blushed again.
I hadn't blushed in a long time.
Day dreamI started dreaming
Laying awake beneath the slumbering trees
I dreamed that I was not alone
That I was with you
I wanted to run my fingers through your hair
Turned to golden fire in the sunlight
I could almost feel the weight of you
Pressed against me
I could nearly smell the sun on your shoulders
The rise of your breath beating a counter harmony to my heartbeat