I reach the pool and my mother is waiting. I have my children and she takes them, but I've forgotten something. I must go back to the hotel room and get the things that hang in my mind, ghosts in the abyss of thoughts that crowd over reality. I watch the ground change under my feet, my shoulders slightly slumped, deep in thought. I feel warmth of sun and see the richness of bright green grass, it awakens my spine and I stand up tall, turning my head like a sunflower. I close my eyes, but the image of that vibrant lawn hangs inside my eyelids. I've been followed by my best friend the whole time and part of the time by my orange tabby. She is talking incessantly, aimlessly wandering into things when I turn behind me to look at her. Her words are barely audible and I let them trail behind me, forgetting she exists. The cat meows randomly and explores. His eyes blink slowly, pupils shrink, and then whips his tail into a question mark at a bug buzzing nearby. I find myself climbing, getting farther ahead of anyone else, walking up a platform covered in greenery. When I look over the top, I suddenly realize, my bunny bear has been weaving between stalks of leaves around my feet. I smile at her soft fur, black and white, stark against each other, a winding of positive and negative light. She looks just as sweet and kind, her eyes looking ahead and patting the grass down cautiously. I think instantly, I do not belong here. A world where she is and I am cannot exist any longer. She has died years ago.
Pulled back into reality, I blink into the darkness and realize where I am and that I am not alone. I'm not sure if I feel comforted or saddened. I can feel that the energy inside you has shifted. I feel as though my presence is tolerated, rather than accepted. I suck in air and wish you would wrap your arms around my body and hold me in. The feeling in the pit of my stomach, the one that had been slowly gaining momentum, has a word. Rejection. I make a small noise of discomfort. It's early, it's dark, I am tired. I just wanted to move forward, but I keep getting sucked back into it. There must be some reason for this. Perhaps I haven't dealt with all of the rejection. It is a lot of pain, perhaps I tucked some away when I thought I had gotten it all out. All those car rides, bursting into tears, not fully understanding how badly I hurt down deep, not all for naught, but maybe just the majority. I tuck it away into a box when you speak to me. I must put it away for later. I cannot look inside right now. I don't know you well enough to dive into the box without having your feelings get entangled in the web inside. It's not the same as it was before. I'm not sure what has changed inside of you. I know that it has been a taxing week and shifting my focus back on myself, I hadn't realized how quickly I will put all of my love into one place. It stings to know that I have been let go.
Yes, I see it. I am well aware. Trust. Slow down. I get it. I always want to dive in and so I take it slow this time, just as the last. Let things unfold naturally, for better or worse. Last time, I was always obsessing and anxious about the silence. Now, I embrace it for what it is. I appreciate the calmness and the comfort of my own hobbies. I enjoy my time alone. I have a list of things that tears my mind elsewhere. The box peaks out from the shelf, dust is surrounding me. I glance up and take notice. I ignore it. I don't even put it properly back up on the shelf. I know I will have time soon to go through it. The reminder of it peaking out is prevalent and constant. I see how it could effect me.
I put my forehead to the cold tile. I think about your fingers touching my forehead, the space reserved for my third eye, the amethyst of my spirit, and how I just sort of stared at you in confusion. You laugh a lot at my reactions, you like making me react. I liked it at first, but now I see the depths of potential manipulation. Where I am suddenly very vulnerable, and unaware until that moment. A snow bunny suddenly aware it is in a lush forest, no white in sight and a fox has just caught my scent. I imagine the furrow on my brow is confusing, or maybe the emotions are confused. I don't always know what my face is doing when I feel intriguing things. I have already been awake for quite some time. I wonder if you are at all. The tile sends a chill down my arm and I think about you touching me, anytime you do. It was overwhelming at first, I could barely stand the way my skin became thousands of pimples, each bursting with energy towards my heart. I felt the electricity surge through my body and out through my head- searching to make it's way through the universe. Somewhere out there my signal is felt, but I can't be too sure it was here. The overwhelming urge to run is wrapping itself around the pit of anxiety and I let it out. It feels like so much, but it isn't in comparison to what I have before. I feel it break me, wetness drips down my cheek before I close my eyes and allow the hot water to wash over my head. My eyes close and I feel you draw a line down the middle of my face, I watched the way it felt on yours, the way touching me effected you, too.
I know the connection has been drifting for months. What once felt so strongly, now only hits me at once on reminders. My daily life has been filled with so many new experiences, mostly good, and making the right choices, that I haven't forgotten so much as I have moved forward. I am not ready to let go entirely of the connection. I know it sounds silly. Once I let go, I shall have it back.
Steam from the bath sends vapors of sweet meadows filled with bloom, but more subtle. Time has dissipated much of the strength. My toes go numb, my eyes are alight, licking my lips and turning the page to reveal more about Zachary. His character is developing before my eyes and another one, too. She reminds me a bit of myself and also of a friend. She bakes cookies and provides tea for her guests. She puts together great minds and listens to them assess interesting topics. I always find the relation to characters. Sometimes me, sometimes people I know. The smell from the black Virgo candle I lit has made its way into the crease of my book, subsequently, into my nostrils. The soft black coverlet of the book is like velvet with shining silver stars. I close it for a few moments, pulling an old photograph of a mosaic junkyard I had taken, what seems like several lifetimes ago. I blink a few times, pondering the words that were written.
"The guardian is seated and asked a single question. 'Would you give your life for this?' And they answer, yes or no. Those who answer yes remain in the chair... ...Few say no, here, after all they have seen. Very few... ...It is a relatively painless death."
As if being asked the question itself is the last test. You trace my palm lines with your finger, sending surges through my body. I tell you that you are doing things to my hand and you want to know what. I don't have words. Weeks later, you are talking and my heart stops when I look at your right hand and I can't figure out why it looks so interesting. You have a long line that seperates your palm in half. A triangle in the center, meets several long lines. I wonder what the lines mean. I wonder why I'm so intrigued by the way it looks so tangible. It reminds me of fire, and the deathly hallows at once. You tell me you like my hands, even though they are covered in small cuts and scrapes, you note, just like yours. I like yours too and my mind wanders away briefly because I cannot begin to explain what it means when I look at your long, soft, fingers. My fingers fit into yours perfectly, just like my body, but you still want to run. To reject whatever this is- for which I haven't begun to figure out. The urge to dive in is as strong as the one to shut the door quietly behind me. Days later, I look at the lines on my hand and I am confirmed in the strangeness. Fire and deathly hallows. Thick, long lines that gather at a point, triangles connecting them all together.
You are here, I know. But, why? There must be a lesson here and I suppose I already know what it must be. But, what else can I do? I have grown so much and gone too far to relinquish what I have earned to be pulled back into a lion's den. I cannot recall a time where I have been asked to look into the next layer like this. At least, not in such a clear mindset. A belt cracked behind my right ear and I didn't have to turn to know what the sound was. I knew. The feelings of being trapped, scared, of being told I was the liar. I vowed to never lie so that I wouldn't have to experience that feeling again. I made it known. I said what I needed to say. I choked back my tears, feeling a ripe red slash on my back. To know how little I really was, is looking at my own daughter's tiny figure. I wonder how far I have come just to be taken back to that moment. So quickly, and with a laugh in his throat.
I ask myself the question I asked myself time and time again, afraid of the answer before, no longer do I shy away from saying what is on my mind. If you are not going to give me a clear answer, you will understand what mine will be.
Pulled back into reality, I blink into the darkness and realize where I am and that I am not alone. I'm not sure if I feel comforted or saddened. I can feel that the energy inside you has shifted. I feel as though my presence is tolerated, rather than accepted. I suck in air and wish you would wrap your arms around my body and hold me in. The feeling in the pit of my stomach, the one that had been slowly gaining momentum, has a word. Rejection. I make a small noise of discomfort. It's early, it's dark, I am tired. I just wanted to move forward, but I keep getting sucked back into it. There must be some reason for this. Perhaps I haven't dealt with all of the rejection. It is a lot of pain, perhaps I tucked some away when I thought I had gotten it all out. All those car rides, bursting into tears, not fully understanding how badly I hurt down deep, not all for naught, but maybe just the majority. I tuck it away into a box when you speak to me. I must put it away for later. I cannot look inside right now. I don't know you well enough to dive into the box without having your feelings get entangled in the web inside. It's not the same as it was before. I'm not sure what has changed inside of you. I know that it has been a taxing week and shifting my focus back on myself, I hadn't realized how quickly I will put all of my love into one place. It stings to know that I have been let go.
Yes, I see it. I am well aware. Trust. Slow down. I get it. I always want to dive in and so I take it slow this time, just as the last. Let things unfold naturally, for better or worse. Last time, I was always obsessing and anxious about the silence. Now, I embrace it for what it is. I appreciate the calmness and the comfort of my own hobbies. I enjoy my time alone. I have a list of things that tears my mind elsewhere. The box peaks out from the shelf, dust is surrounding me. I glance up and take notice. I ignore it. I don't even put it properly back up on the shelf. I know I will have time soon to go through it. The reminder of it peaking out is prevalent and constant. I see how it could effect me.
I put my forehead to the cold tile. I think about your fingers touching my forehead, the space reserved for my third eye, the amethyst of my spirit, and how I just sort of stared at you in confusion. You laugh a lot at my reactions, you like making me react. I liked it at first, but now I see the depths of potential manipulation. Where I am suddenly very vulnerable, and unaware until that moment. A snow bunny suddenly aware it is in a lush forest, no white in sight and a fox has just caught my scent. I imagine the furrow on my brow is confusing, or maybe the emotions are confused. I don't always know what my face is doing when I feel intriguing things. I have already been awake for quite some time. I wonder if you are at all. The tile sends a chill down my arm and I think about you touching me, anytime you do. It was overwhelming at first, I could barely stand the way my skin became thousands of pimples, each bursting with energy towards my heart. I felt the electricity surge through my body and out through my head- searching to make it's way through the universe. Somewhere out there my signal is felt, but I can't be too sure it was here. The overwhelming urge to run is wrapping itself around the pit of anxiety and I let it out. It feels like so much, but it isn't in comparison to what I have before. I feel it break me, wetness drips down my cheek before I close my eyes and allow the hot water to wash over my head. My eyes close and I feel you draw a line down the middle of my face, I watched the way it felt on yours, the way touching me effected you, too.
I know the connection has been drifting for months. What once felt so strongly, now only hits me at once on reminders. My daily life has been filled with so many new experiences, mostly good, and making the right choices, that I haven't forgotten so much as I have moved forward. I am not ready to let go entirely of the connection. I know it sounds silly. Once I let go, I shall have it back.
Steam from the bath sends vapors of sweet meadows filled with bloom, but more subtle. Time has dissipated much of the strength. My toes go numb, my eyes are alight, licking my lips and turning the page to reveal more about Zachary. His character is developing before my eyes and another one, too. She reminds me a bit of myself and also of a friend. She bakes cookies and provides tea for her guests. She puts together great minds and listens to them assess interesting topics. I always find the relation to characters. Sometimes me, sometimes people I know. The smell from the black Virgo candle I lit has made its way into the crease of my book, subsequently, into my nostrils. The soft black coverlet of the book is like velvet with shining silver stars. I close it for a few moments, pulling an old photograph of a mosaic junkyard I had taken, what seems like several lifetimes ago. I blink a few times, pondering the words that were written.
"The guardian is seated and asked a single question. 'Would you give your life for this?' And they answer, yes or no. Those who answer yes remain in the chair... ...Few say no, here, after all they have seen. Very few... ...It is a relatively painless death."
As if being asked the question itself is the last test. You trace my palm lines with your finger, sending surges through my body. I tell you that you are doing things to my hand and you want to know what. I don't have words. Weeks later, you are talking and my heart stops when I look at your right hand and I can't figure out why it looks so interesting. You have a long line that seperates your palm in half. A triangle in the center, meets several long lines. I wonder what the lines mean. I wonder why I'm so intrigued by the way it looks so tangible. It reminds me of fire, and the deathly hallows at once. You tell me you like my hands, even though they are covered in small cuts and scrapes, you note, just like yours. I like yours too and my mind wanders away briefly because I cannot begin to explain what it means when I look at your long, soft, fingers. My fingers fit into yours perfectly, just like my body, but you still want to run. To reject whatever this is- for which I haven't begun to figure out. The urge to dive in is as strong as the one to shut the door quietly behind me. Days later, I look at the lines on my hand and I am confirmed in the strangeness. Fire and deathly hallows. Thick, long lines that gather at a point, triangles connecting them all together.
You are here, I know. But, why? There must be a lesson here and I suppose I already know what it must be. But, what else can I do? I have grown so much and gone too far to relinquish what I have earned to be pulled back into a lion's den. I cannot recall a time where I have been asked to look into the next layer like this. At least, not in such a clear mindset. A belt cracked behind my right ear and I didn't have to turn to know what the sound was. I knew. The feelings of being trapped, scared, of being told I was the liar. I vowed to never lie so that I wouldn't have to experience that feeling again. I made it known. I said what I needed to say. I choked back my tears, feeling a ripe red slash on my back. To know how little I really was, is looking at my own daughter's tiny figure. I wonder how far I have come just to be taken back to that moment. So quickly, and with a laugh in his throat.
I ask myself the question I asked myself time and time again, afraid of the answer before, no longer do I shy away from saying what is on my mind. If you are not going to give me a clear answer, you will understand what mine will be.
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