Touched by the light of a silvery sky she was the existence I once knew. It was a memory at the back of my head. Like a nagging sore scabbed open I wanted to itch at it. Sometimes the only thing i can hope for is a little reprieve from myself. Away, far removed, from those memories. Now I saw here again. Once it started there was no way to stop it. The memories came at me in a violent wind, brushing through my mind at an alarming pace.
My eyes saw the forest reflected in shallow waters and a camp fire surrounded by friends. Inside my concaving skull another place brought itself to cover my sight. She was there, reflected into the smooth mirror of herself. Death smelled on the horizon. This was my little game. Rotting flesh never disturbs me, except as that feeling. The knowledge that the rotting will come out of myself. From those gentle fingertips that smooth over men's skin in a cares, I would bring the Tower. A destruction so elusive only she knew, the mirror saw it.
On the sea of my trepid stints through reality I have loved once. Carefully I went down that road with the knowledge of what my attachments could bring. Sometimes things can be hidden so far int he back of a brain that the person owning them forgets that they exist. This was such a instance. I forgot why I am. It isn't who I am. My self is not defined by this defiler of humanity. She is a part of me, but only as a distance across the horizon is a piece of the whole scope. I see here sitting there, alone except from my removed presence. To have a world inside one human is the single way I know to describe it.
I spoke before of the death. This is a single death. One person chose from the many. He was singled out of merit. There was a great reason for the halting of his existence. It was as I have spoken to her, those many long hours spent in my mind, that I realized why it had to be done. So much had come to him. A greatness and beauty that could only fade with time. It was his time.
I have spoken his name a loud once since that place, this will be the second time since then. To complete his existence he held a name of great holding, Brian. saints have bowed under the weight of such a title. He refused to bow under anything he could not first conquer. This title was such a thing, and I must say he did conquer it effectively. The name could have been any, his presence was a life of it's own. An art gallery down the road from where I lived held the remainders of his social value. I once wondered why a beauty like himself would waste counting those feeble paper weights, let alone investing them into a shack of metropolitan commerce.
His was the words. Hidden behind the melodies of great musicians his words flew through the air as a great worship. To things that even I could not understand. He was the space where enlightenment filtered into language. I courted him as an equal. Gave him my time and presence under no pretence. We were two people who held names in the world. Our joining was that of a greatness. If my memory serves me, we even went to the ultimate of courtship and bounded ourselves legally. I know that I loved him. At the time there was no existence but that he brought to me. Then it came.
There are ways to speak with daemons. I have learned this after many years of being spoken to. Some people forget that they can. After childhood it's hard to remember those thoughts, the ones that let you do impossible things. I never truly forgot. When I did hear the words that lead me, it was a release from common reality. Suddenly I was on the drug that gave me life. My spirit soared into a world where love never escapes. He was with me. In that last second, we were together.
I can only tell you how that second still pulls on my soul. Inside me I see it all. A single room, the shaped doesn't matter. There are the things you fill a room with, pieces of physical existence. Then there was him. A god. Tempered black hair drawn back at the base of his neck. I could see his fear so clearly, gently it ran down his cheek in rivulets of salt. I cannot say that the color of blood has ever pleased me, but the feeling of his sticky plasma on my skin brought me closer to him. I know that he gave it to me. In the instant that the last stroke pierced his skin his eyes met mine. That second came and he was with me. His soul lifted up and touched mine. When he broke free tears ran down my face. He had left with me the body he occupied, a gift I took apart in reverence.
Sometime later I removed every inch of the red matter from the room, cooked it into a stew, and gave it to the earth. I marked his last place of residence, where he stayed underground as ground chuck, with a thistle plant. What he left for me had to continue on it's way back to where it came from.
She smiles at me from that grave still. I can see it in my mind, her silvery smile. Buried in the petals of that thistle a woman of me stays with him. Guarding his precious gifts to the earth.
I love this place. It reminds me of there. As I come back from inside I look around at the beautiful lake, and all that surrounds it. A group of healthy hiking artists sit with me, all aglow in the presence of this love. Would that I could see her smile in that water. As I look at the group image reflecting from that pool a bright answer comes to me. For I do.
The End.
- ‹ previous
- 14 of 53
- next ›