in our own field of stars
most bones rest in peace
I want my bones to rest with you
in sunlight, in warmth
fingers sinking into deep grass
hair tangled up in vibrant petals
of daisies and forget-me-nots
most bones rest in peace
but my bones want to rest with you
between the mangled sheets of our bed
between the beating heartbeats
of the home
that was always sewn
within the fibers of our souls
most bones rest in peace
but my bones only truly
rest with you
vulnerable things and their hushed songs
remember about the moths and stories?
they all seem to carry your name
With so many things going on recently, I forgot to tell you about the newest hospital newsletter.
I lift my eyebrows questioningly as he holds some forms, flipping through them, scanning a bunch of names and numbers as if searching for some patterns that will bring him the answers he's looking for. I'm not a fan of surprises, but I have to admit I'm relieved to have other topics to talk about than just our lovely, denial-filled grey area. Charlie puts down the paperwork on a desk behind him and rubs his face slowly, sighing as if he was constructed of too many things to worry about - each trouble a tangled wire hiding under his already tensed form. He looks more tired than when I saw him a few hours ago. No, I didn't go straight to him. One, I knew he was busy, and two, cowards like to extend their pre-execution time.
Denial is so much sweeter, after all.
Mmm, okay, I'll bite. What's the newest gossip in Sin City?
His face doesn't turn amused, and I become slightly alert.
Remember Dr. Sorentine? The psychiatrist who was hanging around Morgan? The one who saw you collapse some time ago?
I nod slowly. It wasn't something I could forget entirely, even if I preferred it never happened.
Well, he has been intensely observing you for a while now. You and the people you spent time with. It seems your volunteer activities got him making a lot of notes.
My eyes narrow, body tensing up as I shift uncomfortably in the chair. I felt that Mister Elegant might be problematic. Something about his presence and the way his eyes would wander to me, sliding against my body like he was trying to solve an equation with too many unknowns as if he was studying a lab rat under a million bright, flashy lights.
Perhaps he is writing a play. One can be a wannabe in many areas, and not just in psychiatry.
Charlie sends me a heavy stare, and I can see how this situation worries him. But for me, it was just another bump in the road. As much as I was unsure of my near future, I could tell the road would be rocky all the way through. It was more than expected - just one more thorn in my personal, poison-ivy garden.
Sorry, please continue.
He asked me many questions about you, casually prodding me here and there until I became suspicious.
You can guess where his curiosity came from.
He nods unhurriedly, his facial expression clouding even more.
Yes, the moment you miraculously put yourself back together after looking like a bad case of tropical disease or five seconds from collapsing into a coma.
I shrug my shoulders, still not too bothered.
I guess miracles don't sit well with overachieving shrinks.
Not with this one, anyway. He even warned me about you, letting me know that you show signs of being mentally unstable at times and can potentially be dangerous to your surroundings.
I lift my eyebrows at that. Dangerous to my surroundings? I think in disbelief.
The accurate statement here would be that the surroundings could potentially be dangerous to my health and life.
My thoughts were similar.
I sigh with agitation that I can't seem to hide as it bursts through my pores like tiny explosions.
You would think with that kind of diagnosis, I am a step away from a killing spree. Have you got an axe somewhere or a set of pristine chef knives? Rusted knives would do too, more cinematic if you ask me. I would just love to show the shrink a little show so he's not too disappointed.
I say sweetly and feel long-forgotten fires stir in me. A prelude to anger.
Charlie shakes his head but can't hold back a little smile.
I doubt that would actually help your case.
After a while, I nod, my anger deflating as the mundane reality cools down my murderous enthusiasm.
No, probably not. But one can dream. So, what did you do?
I lean in slightly on the chair.
Well, I calmly told him you fall into a certain area on the autism spectrum, and because of that, you can be extremely sensory sensitive when put under a lot of stress or anxiety.
Slowly, I blink at him, confused, not entirely aware of what that term entitles. Obviously, I have heard about autism and that it had many levels on the scale, ranging from very mild versions that let the people who struggle with it live pretty regular, day-to-day lives, as well as the ones where the autistic traits can take over completely, making it very difficult to function and adjust to the world around them. Charlie stares at my blank expression and gives me a small smile.
I will explain it when it comes to kids. Children who have sensory issues can show an aversion to things that overstimulate their senses, such things as bright lights, loud environments, or sometimes intense smells. Kids with that kind of sensitivity may also seek additional stimulation in settings that don't spark their senses enough.
My head tilts to the side.
So, some rather live in peaceful, dark caves. While others are constantly looking for fireworks and the blazing sunshine?
He makes a face and nods his head unwillingly.
In a very simplified version, sure.
I lift my hands in surrender and then shrug.
Hey, you're the one with medical knowledge. I base mine on what I catch with what Doctor Google provides or what I casually hear on 2 a.m. TV while dealing with insomnia wonderland. I mean, at those special moments when I'm not in the middle of yet another tender and delicate episode of "sensory sensitiveness".
There is a noticeable dry tone to my words, and he gazes at me for a moment as if searching for something.
The description fits nicely, though. Wouldn't you say?
My back sags a bit, shoulders curling to the inside as I give in to the truth with some annoyance.
Surprisingly well, actually.
I take out my phone from the back pocket of my jeans and type in the phrases he used, mouthing them as I do so. "Sensory sensitive children". I scroll for a long while, getting lost in it and losing track of time, glaring at the text as the information becomes strangely familiar. I feel both annoyed by it and intrigued. "Oversensitive children might squint or seem uncomfortable in sunlight or glare; they might cover their ears to block out loud noises." "Unstable balance... overreact to pain". I take a breath and click on a different link with an article written by some psychiatrist, my eyes following the text very closely and cautiously as if waiting for a bomb to go off.
"For someone who is hypersensitive, it can take a lot of effort to spend all day under LED or fluorescent lights, navigate a crowded space, or process conversations in rooms with background noise. This can be incredibly physically and emotionally draining and can leave the person feeling too exhausted to do other important tasks."
My eyes lower to a different section that also catches my attention.
"Sensory overload happens when an intense sensory stimulation overwhelms your ability to cope. This can be triggered by a single event, like an unexpected loud noise, or it can build up over time due to the effort it takes to cope with sensory sensitivities in daily life. Sensory overload can feel like intense anxiety, a need to escape the situation."
After a while, I put my phone on his desk and sink deeper into the chair, feeling deflated.
Did you resurface yet?
He asks with some humor but still gently, and I sigh.
Yes, in a way. It's rather strange to be defined so well and at the same time know it couldn't be more far off. It makes me feel like a definition in an encyclopedia that doesn't apply anywhere.
What does apply to you, then?
Damned, tortured, and breathtaking.
He shakes his head but can't help himself, the corners of his lips lifting slightly.
You are something, that's for sure.
There is a certain softness in his tone, and it causes me to inhale deeper for many reasons that I rather not think about right now.
He focuses more on my face, sensing a change in my tone.
Are we okay?
There is a moment of silence when he gazes at me.
I mean, I think that we are. But still, I don't want to assume.
My eyes linger on him as I wait for the answer, and he gives me a little smile that's both nervous and calm somehow.
We're fine, Nora.
There is something in the way that he says my name that makes me worry a bit, something in my chest moving around as if a bunch of small pebbles uncomfortably bouncing around my ribs. It's as if he was suddenly further away from me. The thought makes me uneasy, and I sense a wave of panic washing over me. And panic tends to loosen my tongue. Or if I had to be completely honest, not so much the panic but the feeling of potentially losing a person that meant so much to me. It somehow shifts my insecurities to the side, shoving them into some deep corner of my being.
I want to talk about it.
I say in a rushed, urgent way and watch his eyes widen, and then he blinks as if the sun had just blinded him.
You want to talk about it?
He puts pressure on every word, especially the first one, not seeming to believe what he has just heard.
Okay. Then talk.
He crosses his arms and sits on the side of the desk. I wasn't sure if he was challenging me, or just mentally preparing himself for what he was going to hear.
It's nothing bad. I promise.
I mumble under my breath, shrinking under the spotlight, that I have put on myself - both my words and body language feeling clumsy as I start.
I remember everything that happened between us, but the details are kind of hazy.
A long inhale as I stare at my fingers, constantly clenching them and spreading them wide - as if just by doing that, everything would become easier, just the right words appearing magically and spilling out of my clenched jaw.
Almost like an out-of-body experience.
I shake my head and look up at him, but make sure not to focus on his facial expression so I don't get distracted. Another little sigh escapes my lips as I stare back at my hands, the last thing I've said seeming lame and laughable.
Like being in a dream and watching the scene from the side. You know?
I shift my head and look at him from the corner of my eye. He nods slowly, not wanting to interrupt whatever I needed to get out of my system.
I'm not going to pretend that it didn't happen, nor do I regret it - just so you know. I mean... maybe it shouldn't, especially with everything going on, but it did.
I struggle more and more to find the right words. I had so much to communicate, so
many things wanting to spill out of me. And yet, I couldn't name them correctly, instead feeling like I was just repeating the same, empty cliche phrases I used before with him. It was hard to make sense of all of it, all the feelings and emotions that were going on in my chest, under the skin, and in the pit of my stomach - like an endless whirlpool of thoughts and sensations, hitting me repeatedly on a loop. Maybe there just weren't the right words for it all? I look up again and this time focus on his eyes for longer.
Charlie, I'm not the right person to get involved with.
I see him freeze for a moment, but he doesn't say anything in return. Not yet.
I'm messy and chaotic, and my life is currently very uncertain. I come with baggage. And on top of that, I'm a health hazard not only to myself but to others around me. Hey, maybe the psychiatrist wannabe is right after all. Why would anyone want someone like that?
I don't really want any response from him - all that I'm trying to do is communicate with him. I'm trying my hardest not to do what I was best at, trying not to shut him out of my life. I lean on my right hand and stare numbly at the floor for a very long time. But then suddenly, I snap out of it as his warm fingers slip into mine. I look up and gaze into his warm blue eyes as he kneels in front of me. My heart starts to hammer unexpectedly against my chest as a similar situation hits me, a memory opening up before my eyes like a flower. Like a flower. The words echo in my mind as an image of a silver ring with a painted-on daisy flashes before me, exploding into a million other memories. It takes all of my willpower not to rip my hand away from his and start to scream. He must feel how my body tenses and looks at me with growing worry.
What's wrong? Is it the pain?
I swallow, relieved that he thought it was my demons talking and not the sound of my heart cracking open in old places that I thought had healed better - invisible scars opening up and flaring with pulsating, crimson fires. But then again, these scars were also my demons; they just had different hues of colors if she put them against the light. I nod slowly but don't say anything. I didn't like lying to him; it felt wrong somehow, and always twisted my stomach into little knots. He nods back and wraps his fingers around my wrist. I smile as the faint warmth moves through my veins - it feels nice and comforting but does not stop the ache in my chest. I swallow again and try to smile at him reassuringly. It takes a lot of effort, but I pull through. Gently, I slip my wrist from his hold and cross my arms. He gazes at me questioningly, probably sensing there is something more to my mood than I let on.
Now please get up, I'm not paying for any knee injury. I can't afford it - starving artist and all.
His eyes narrow slowly as if he's scanning everything I'm hiding, but then just nods, giving me a little smile.
Alright, I apologize to the introvert for such open displays of humanity.
My smile widens a bit.
Ah, he understands me. I have taught you well.
He nods and gives a new smile that still doesn't reach his eyes. Panic swirls in my veins again, waking up to life like tiny pieces of shredded glass in my bloodstream. I tilt my head, concentrating intensely and listening in the same way I did with Morgan, but nothing comes - just the general feeling that he's upset and slightly out of it. I can't hear him like with some. Maybe I can only touch sorrow and trauma. Personal trauma, not the ones he takes care of with others. I grab his hand just as he's ready to leave the room - and what I know very well - excuse himself with work. He's a busy man, but I know when someone's trying to escape my presence. I have been in this place too many times not to read the signs correctly.
He looks down at me as if he had only just noticed me.
I'm not pulling away. I'm not running. And I need... no, I WANT you around for a very, very long time.
I can tell that I stirred some things in him, but I also know I have to open up more. It's not enough.
And not just because you're a remedy to my pain. Or because you calm down the restless demons and all the PTSD crap that, let's face it, might never leave me.
My finger squeezes around his tighter.
And not because you're a friend and ally that I would shield from any danger that may come with my own body in a heartbeat.
My other hand wraps around his lower arm, securing him in place, never wanting him to leave. My voice becomes softer as I let myself be vulnerable with him even though it terrifies me.
You make me happy, Charlie Evans. You saved me the day we met, and you continue to be by my side despite all the chaos that happens around me and under all my damaged layers.
I take a deep breath as I repeat what he already heard before.
Charlie, I'm not the right person to get involved with... but it doesn't mean I don't want to be the person for YOU.
I notice his expression change, color spreading on his face. I feel as if I had just thrown him an invisible anchor, bringing him back to the present. Back to us.
I can't promise you that one day, I will be glued back together enough to resemble something that's even in the slightest way whole.
My thumb moves around in circles against his lower arm, stroking the skin there as if I was touching the most precious thing in the world.
But when that day comes...
My heart races and my eyes begin to sting - wanting to both finish what I want to say and at the same time, run away as if all hell was chasing me. But I stay, for him.
But when it comes, I hope I will feel the same things I felt a few nights ago. When I felt everything you were willing to give me and all the things I never knew you could want from me. That anybody could want from me.
I watch as he swallows and takes a step back, hitting the desk behind him and accidentally falling on it with a low thud, seeming to forget it was even there - an empty cup dancing around on the wooden surface with protest, a few pens and pencils tumbling down to the floor. He holds the edges of the desk with his palms like he's trying to find some balance.
Well, I... I did not expect that.
I inhale and shift my arms, stuffing my hands under my armpits as if protecting
myself. He notices and smiles - this time, the smile is warmer and reaches the corners of his eyes.
But in a good way.
He adds quickly and crosses his arms over his chest. We must look comically right now, both with crossed arms - him on the desk, looking like a catalog, fair-haired Harward student. And me on the chair resembling a semi-tamed anxiety with a dark bundle mess on her head.
I'm happy I can still surprise you.
I stand up, stretching out some sore muscles that have been in one place for too long, and straighten my back wanting to gain back some control. Just like Morgan a few hours ago. I think and ponder how similar we are in the end. I look up at Charlie and lift my chin slightly.
If you and you're nurse discounts need me, I will be occupying the cafeteria consuming hot over-sugared tea and air while searching for lost dignity.
He sighs and gets up.
Come on, I might have a few minutes to spare; let me just first check with Susan if I'm allowed such a luxury. I need to feed you before you show any more tender romance novel qualities. I don't want you to spontaneously combust when it reaches your dark, sarcastic soul. I have a hospital and patients to think about.
He shoves me forward, and I smile, secretly hoping I really won't combust from all this openness - who knew what happened after such occurrences to the likes of me.
Link to the book:
trapped moths are pained stories in need of telling
there is beauty in the slow breath
that comes from letting go of
the things you’ve been holding
with clenched fists
— Raquel Franco
I tap on the door frame three times and wait until the girl looks up slowly, apparently lost somewhere in the realms of her own thoughts. I gaze at the circles under her eyes, the messy, wavy light brown hair that ends in the middle of her forearms, and the delicate frame that seemed to get a little smaller since the last time I had seen her - an army green t-shirt pulled over a long-sleeved white cotton shirt, leaving way too much space between her and the soft material. My eyebrows furrow, scanning the white knuckles as her hand holds on tightly to the bed sheets, the notepad and pen by her side all but forgotten.
A bad day?
I decide not to play subtleties with her. No point. We were both suffering because of the sickness that settled too deeply in our bones. Pretending did neither of us any good. She frowns and then winces. Without realizing it fully, she scratches at the top of her right hand where a big, square bandage sticks to the skin, faint blue and purple bruises coloring the edges and spreading from under it.
Yeah, you could say that.
She looks down at her hand and the reddened, marked skin there and sighs, making herself stop what she's doing.
New meds are always a bust.
She looks up at me and tilts her head a bit.
And what are you doing here? On this fine, glorious day in the asylum headquarters?
My eyebrows lift, impressed.
Be careful there. You're starting to sound like me.
She frowns in dislike.
Ah, and we wouldn't want that, would we now?
I bite on my lower lip so I don't grin as I hear the tones behind the words.
Sarcasm, darling? Please stop. Now that is just straight flattery right there.
The sides of her lips twitch slightly, and I take it as a good sign.
There you go, some regular people's facial reactions. There might still be a chance for you.
Normal folks would have missed you.
She rolls her eyes.
I watch as she moves her knees close to her chest and lifts the covers almost all the way to the neck, covering herself up, her body language feeling deflated and tired. She trembles slightly, and my eyebrows crunch together again. I walk over and sit next to her. Then, I tap the sheets where I believe her knee is, hopefully in a comforting way.
Is that your way of trying to lift my spirits?
Morgan's eyebrow arches in a judgemental manner, and I shrug my shoulders lightly.
I have a limited range of human interactions. I apologize for the inconvenience.
Her shoulders shrug too, and she stares to the side, her gaze lingering on the window and the clear Autumn sky behind it. The wind seemed to settle down more now that I was out of its eager reach. Of course.
Don't be. You're doing better than my parents and all my friends put together. Not that there are that many left by now. I don't blame them. I feel rather boring even to myself.
She inhales deeper and rests her chin against her knees, her body still shivering. I stand up automatically, grab a blanket from a nearby chair, outstretch it in the air, and lightly let it fall over the sheets. Morgan doesn't seem to notice, and I sit back on the plastic chair, not really looking for any reaction from her. I cross my arms, and my head tilts to the side as if I was listening to something that probably no one else could catch. Since I started to hear voices in my head and then later after meeting Charlie, my senses had heightened not just in the physical spectrum but also when it came to empathy. Often, it brought me even bigger migraines when I had to listen to too many things at once, but surprisingly, it had a good side to it. It meant that for some bizarre reason, I could be helpful to someone instead of just causing chaos and dislike. Maybe that's why I connected so well to Clair and her silent grieving. Because I could tap into her feelings and emotions, and not just because I could relate to her story - I think that was why I saw all those visions of her life before in my thoughts. I was closed in many ways when it came to interacting with other people, but there were also many doors that opened in me since my demons became louder and extremely vocal. When one door closes, someone else unexpectedly opens a window.
And this was my window.
That's why now, my eyes widen as I sense too many things in one blow, invisible bricks falling one by one over my head, making me wince. I look at Morgan and feel a wide range of her feelings. I sense loneliness and guilt, almost perspiring from her skin, cursing through the blood and nearly crashing her bones. Such sadness in such a young body. My heart starts to beat faster as I feel something else I didn't fully realize before. I can almost smell it. Sickness. Worn-out cells and structures. And there was something else. It tasted nasty. Both sour and bitter flavors in my mouth as if I had a pill on my tongue for too long. I shiver and feel nauseous. But again, it doesn't come from me. I swallow, and the taste goes away as if it was never there, quickly replaced by all her emotions again, hitting me one by one until it feels like someone has knocked all the air out of my lounges, throat tightening as if I had just spent many days in the desert, scratching mercilessly like sandpaper. I must have made a strange sound because Morgan turns around and looks back at me, alarmed, while her sadness and loneliness still swirls around me. I shake my head at her in surprise and worry and then lean in with urgency, slipping onto the bed and resting my head on her knees, my arms wrapping around her legs and back. I feel pain, love, and concern spilling out of me in waves, gushing all over the bed and Morgan's curled figure, slushing against the floor and sinking into the walls. It feels like everything that bursts out of me wants to explode, covering every inch on its way.
I'm sorry that he's gone.
I choke out, my throat still tight and dry.
I know how much you loved him. I know how it hurts... how that pain and sorrow wants to rip you apart... and how it never truly lets you go. Trust me, I know.
My voice is barely audible when I whisper into her knees, my arms holding her with every ounce of bruised, tattered love I still had to give.
I'm so sorry, Morgan. I can't do much... but I'm here... I'm here.
I think of her little kid brother and hold on to her as tight as my arms will let me. I feel like I'm not only consoling her but myself in the process as well. I sense it as I hold her even tighter, as all the warmth in my body expands and spreads out to her, trying to coat her every fiber into something warm, safe, and familiar. Something that she used to know before her entire world came crashing down. I sense her slight form freeze for a moment into a sharp, rough stone, and then, I nuzzle my face deeper into her knees, fingers holding on tightly to the sheets - as if I was trying to hold an earthquake in place before it started. And soon enough, it comes. Her body trembles and shakes uncontrollably. Bulldozers tumbling down the mountain, bouncing off the cliffs, and falling into the sea, causing countless ripples into the tides. The images fill my mind just before Morgan starts to sob uncontrollably, howling into my hair, leaving wet traces of tears on the side of my neck, and into the material of my hoody. I sigh slightly, feeling full to the brim as if the whole universe of pain and ache nestled itself into my bones - my body taking in the sorrow that seemed to have no end. I help her lift above the waves in these raw moments that come with being vulnerable with another human being.
I failed in so many ways in my life, making one careless mistake after another. But this I could do. I could help lift her pain, hand in hand. My fingers trace her back soothingly, and more of her tears roll down, the sobs gradually becoming less erratically until it's just soft, small teardrops staining her cheeks. She sniffs several times and strokes the side of my arm as if mesmerized by the movement - I know the simple action brings her comfort. Maybe it's easier for her when she imagines comforting me instead.
I left snuffs all over your jacket and blouse.
She says in a muffled, hoarse voice, sniffing a few more times. And then she starts to awkwardly release herself from my embrace. This time, I let her. I feel the tides calm down and pass. For a second, I look out the window above her head and imagine the weight that holds her down lifting in the air in the form of a big, red balloon. My imaginary fingers cut the string that's attached to her waist and watch as it glides outside, not caring about the glass in front of it, but simply sliding past it and disappearing into the cold Autumn sky. I knew it was only one of many pains that invaded her chest, but it was a good start. Every little helps. I look back at Morgan and smile lightly.
No big deal. I hear a nice pattern on the fabric always makes it look more interesting.
She laughs out surprised, after everything that had just happened, and grabs a tissue from her nightstand, blowing her nose with impressive power.
Then you're definitely trending now.
She finally notices the blanket, surprised, and smooths it out several times as if wanting to gain back some control. I smile with warmth at her and gaze at her curiously, my mind already realizing some things. Loudly. Very Loudly. It was her voice I'd heard in the park next to the hospital. Maybe I felt it even then before stepping into the building. I remember staring at it as Charlie stood next to me, feeling and sensing that whatever I heard came from the walls inside the impressive structure in front of me. Though I never actually thought I would be lucky enough to find the source of it. Not until I sensed her and all the emotions running through her tired body. I just knew. Gently, I tap her leg under the blanket to catch her attention, feeling that she needed personal space to calm down and regain some of the dignity that her outburst caused - at least that's how it felt to her, I can tell.
And I was never the one to hover, the introverted parts of me not wanting to intrude.
I need to go now. A certain male nurse will have his lunch soon.
Free food for the wicked?
Something like that. Plus an order of temporary awkwardness.
I say before I can stop myself, and she lifts her eyebrows before pulling them together into a scowl.
What did you do?
Why do assume it was my fault, little girl?
I stand up and dust off some imaginary dirt from my jacket. And then I cross my arms with the corner of my lips slightly lifting.
The better question is, why do you bother to ask me about the obvious?
She waits a moment, then tilts her head again, not fooled.
So what did you do?
That's none of your concern, and I assure you, I have papers for it from MY asylum.
Good to know.
She nods, judging me without any remorse. I gaze at her for a while, taking her whole frame in. The body language, the emotions - but feel nothing out of the ordinary.
You look better. I believe it's safe to let you be?
She crosses her arms, calculating something for a moment.
If you tell anyone about what happened here, I will find you and haunt you down. This hospital bed will not stop me, trust me.
My smile grows.
I will heal and get better, even if it's just to kick your ass. Repeatedly.
I couldn't be more proud if you were my own flesh and blood.
See you later, stalker.
Morgan mumbles and sighs like a tired parent of a misbehaving child, and I salute her, which earns me a dramatic eye-roll and then leave her room. Alright then, let's have a little frisome in the nurse's room.
Me, him, and the pink elephant smack in the middle.
tapping into something untouchable
this is the strangest life
I have ever known
― Jim Morrison
The weather seemed to be more reckless today, each gust of wind doing its best to reach and touch every little bit of her skin, becoming almost vicious in its eager attempts at penetrating her right to the bone -its chaotic movements blowing out her hair in all directions, turning it into a precise construction of tangled knots with each passing moment, shifting the light under her eyelashes as they dance in front of her face. She inhales deeper and opens her eyes slowly, looking up to the sky, bare branches swaying to an unknown melody, only a few stubborn leaves still fighting the end of a season. Maybe they will even stay to spring. She smiles at their willingness to remain when so many have already given up. We are all struggling survivors here. She knew that better than most.
Slowly, she tilts her head slightly, enjoying the unexpected warmth from the sun as the wind settles slightly in its evil ways, rolling her shoulders and letting things in her stir, circulating in the bloodstream. The tinted glass reflects strawberry and emerald hues - she murmurs to herself as if chanting a long-forgotten children's rhyme, lost in thought, and then angles her hand differently, gently blocking the sunrays through her open fingers, mind gravitating to the day before. All those red tints and colorful sparks covering her eyes, opening a path to something she had no explanation for.
Another obstacle or an unexpected help in her absurd, erratic life? Mmm, who was to say. The only thing she was certain of was that this time around, she wasn't scared of the change like before, bringing a strange sense of liberation with it.
She inhales deeply and with a purpose - piece by piece, getting lost in the things she had experienced last night, trying to catch every little detail - the scene painting itself in her mind as if moved by brush strokes that she saw in Jeremiah's hand. She wants to dive deeper into the images, curious if she could call out a vision into existence, willing it into life. She knows it's crazy, and the chances of that working even in the slightest way were more than unlikely, nearly non-existent. Don't reach too deep, child, the rocks are sharp on the way down. But then again, one has to jump sometimes, wouldn't you agree? She blinks and feels insanity poking at her, both with strength and gentleness - as if with the small hands of a child tapping at her skin and her fevered state. It goes against all common sense, yet she tests it out anyway, something in her pushing forward, willing her to make some kind of move, transforming her thoughts into something with a shape, nearly physical.
Her shoulders roll again, this time slower, as she focuses on every muscle in her body as if navigating each structure and cell into something more familiar. Something she has control over. She inhales deeper, air filling her lungs to the brim, trying to remember what it felt like to sink into that strange world of images and visions, and suddenly feels something in her mind adjust and switch - as if the smallest of locks opening up.
Twist, turn, click, open.
Her mind expands slowly like an invisible soft fog or some strange organic mechanism, shaping its edges with a precision that she did not expect from her normally so unsteady thoughts. Carefully, she visualizes the milky form swaying gently and growing in size, coloring its structure with pastel colors reflected in the sun - like stretching out a flexible cord, a rubber band bending and changing to her will. Her mind once again moves to the vision from last night, but then it stops abruptly, changing its direction. Instead, for no apparent reason, as if on instinct, she visualizes warm light swirling until it grows into shapes and forms. A million tiny pair of wings exploding with flickering light. Butterflies and fireflies swarming against blackness, creating miniature eruptions of blazing, pulsating things. A slight crack in the matter blooming into life. She gasps from the images dancing under her eyelids, surprise and wonder blending into one, chemicals in her body turning into an erratic state - constantly shifting and re-arranging themselves. And then, without warning, everything disappears as if it was never there, to begin with - nothingness surrounding her for a fraction of a second, only to be replaced with the strangest noise stirring somewhere under her skull.
Blueberries used to be my favorite, but now everything tastes like chalk.
She blinks a few times and stumbles slightly, thrown by the sudden thought that doesn't seem to belong to her. Not scenes, not visions. But thoughts. She swallows and staggers back as if pushed by a blast of wind or an invisible hand. This was not how this was supposed to look, nothing she had imagined. It was supposed to be a repeat of last night. She expected glimmers of another vision, a complete scene, a fresh memory, diving into someone else's subconscious. Like walking slowly into a river with bare feet, currents of thoughts washing over her skin. Instead, a voice echoed softly in her head - it sounded so familiar, but she wasn't sure why. She heard it, but it missed the melody of a real voice - it was like reading someone else's words on a piece of paper, with your own voice coloring them with private tones and hues.
I wonder how soon before I can join him.
Her pulse rushes as a new thought breaks, causing her to take another small step back. This time it's not even her doing, though she doubts the amount of control she actually had the first time around - it always felt like whatever she did was somehow not up to her, the invisible strings of the puppeteer seeming to reach her no matter what. She shakes her head, feeling out of it. Focus. Come on, focus! The last thing she heard rings out again, and she inhales deeper - her mind opened and seeming to pull things to her on its own, constantly grabbing something that she still struggles to comprehend. You unblocked something, and there is no going back now. The thought slaps her across the face, and she trembles from the sudden cold that had nothing to do with the chill in the air.
I feel him missing me when I sleep.
Her heart thuds against her chest, pulse ringing loudly in her ears.
Sometimes, I even make myself believe I see him. Is that so wrong?
She moves around a couple of times, spinning like a confused child, the trees in the park blurring around into an unsteady collage of colors and shapes.
He must be so lonely there.
The voice in her head turns softer, the longing hidden in it almost unbearable to take in; it weighs on her chest. But she has been through worse - she knows this kind of ache all too well and can shield herself from it. Most pain comes from loss, so you learn to build walls. Survival above all. She breathes faster, but instead of panicking, she listens more intently, as if wanting to find the source of the sound - just like last night, she doesn't question what's happening or how it's possible, even if fear of the unknown still lingers somewhere in the background of her head. She listens, tuning into the words as if shifting a radio antenna until the signal gets better and stronger. If someone ever asked her how she was doing all of this, she wouldn't be able to answer. Whatever this was, it was happening on autopilot with a device she had no instruction to - she sighs. One giant, freaking improvisation.
I'm only a problem now. When was I not?
They erased me out of the picture the moment he was gone.
Her heart pounds faster again inside her ribs as she stumbles forward, feeling a strong pull to head left, between the north path of the park. She passes people, rushing to catch whoever or whatever was calling to her. Her heartbeat echoes in her ears, blocking out any actual noises. Once again, she stumbles and then stops abruptly, something else catching her attention before she can even register what it is. She looks around confused, and finally notices it, eyes widening as a figure in the distance smiles and waves their hand, willing her to come over. Eventually, the silhouette comes into focus, and she shakes her head in disbelief, wondering if coincidence existed or if everything was already decided in advance. Charlie. She blinks a couple of times until something breaks through. She lost the connection. Fuck. She was so close. Whatever had opened up in her mind was gone now, almost as if Charlie had blocked its signal, his presence louder than the visions.
A different pull altogether, a pull that stood above everything else.
He smiles at her, surprised, eyebrows lifting. He knew that eventually, she would come over - her batteries most definitely on a dangerously low level by now - it's been over 24 hours since they last saw each other, and a part of him gets knocked over the head, realizing he didn't notice before how long it has been. But then again, it made sense. He was too preoccupied with his endless rushing thoughts to take in the passage of time, too loudly centered on what happened between them, even if he tried to pretend otherwise. He knew deep down they would be alright, but the thoughts still prickled at his mind. That's why without noticing it fully, he dived into his work deeper, doing his best to put some things aside for the time being. If he didn't want to go crazy, he had to be practical - hovering somewhere near a neutral state, rewinding himself to a moment when she wasn't so important to him - when their time spent together was much simpler and involved fewer rules to follow, And fewer eggshells to step on.
Yet now that he sees her, a smile spreads on his face - a feeling of relief stirring under the tensed muscles. That strange feeling of coming home after a very long day - he shakes his head at the thought and waves a hand towards her. For a moment, Nora's stare is blank, and she looks out of it, lost and confused, her features suddenly twisting and darkening. His body freezes, mind sending alarmed signals that her reaction was related to what happened between them - but then she suddenly smiles back, rolling her shoulders a few times and running over to him. He lifts his eyebrows again, amused at the sight, while at the same time feeling the physical strings in his forearms loosen up, mentally melting away as if iron elements heated by fire.
I don't think I ever saw you jog.
Don't get used to it, and treat it as an anomaly. Damned souls don't run. They stagger gracefully towards hell.
He makes a face, and the smile reaches her eyes this time. She lifts her hands in the air.
Fine, no hellfire today. Just make sure not to use the word jog and me in the same sentence again.
Deal. Hmm, Nora?
Her stare lifts slowly, her mind still seeming to be elsewhere.
You had a strange look on your face when you saw me.
I... I know. But it would be hard to explain.
I thought we were used to that by now.
He furrows his eyebrows, and she sighs, wrapping her heavy leather jacket tighter around her body, a thick, too-long, grey hoody sticking from under its edges and sleeves, the bottom covering most of her thighs, black skinny jeans looking too thin for this kind of weather. He gazes at the green, woolen hat put low over her head, and then his stare falls to her round, steel-grey eyes. She shrugs her shoulders.
Fair point, Charlie. I just don't want to get into it now, especially since your day is probably very busy.
She has a funny look on her face as she gazes at the hospital building behind them as if she sees it for the first time - her eyebrows pulling together into a frown like she's trying to solve some difficult equation and failing at it. Then suddenly, her stare shifts slightly towards him, a cautious look changing her features.
Did anything unusual happen today?
Not that I can think of, just the regular. Why do you ask?
Mmm, no reason. It's just a feeling.
She crosses her arms and frowns again at the building. It's more than apparent that she's not satisfied with the answer she got. If he wasn't so concerned with her behavior, he might have even found it amusing. She looked like a child moments away from picking a stick from the ground and poking at the hospital entry as if waiting for what strange, unsettling things would fall out of it.
He asks after a while when the silence starts to get uncomfortable. She blinks a few times and shakes her head, returning to reality from wherever her mind was.
It's nothing big, I promise. Don't over-worry about it, stud. You will get grey hairs faster.
He makes a face at the comment, and she waves a hand in the air dismissively and then unexpectedly catches some color to her face, looking embarrassed, shifting sides of her hoody away from her neck as if wanting to let some cool air in there.
No, nothing, my mind tends to wonder.
Mmm, just that salt and pepper looks good on some men.
He lifts his eyebrow, not connecting the dots at first, and then clears his throat as the fog lifts slightly - and watches her grin, in some bizarre way gaining confidence from his awkward reaction.
You're a handsome man, Charlie. That's why, even after all this time, some of the nurses eye me as if they were wondering which poison worked best on the likes of me.
You're not funny.
Oh, I'm serious. And the medicine supplies they have at their disposal...
She claps her hands with enthusiasm and nods with an impressed look.
Well, let's just say I tread very lightly these days around women in scrubs.
Why, thank you. You're far too kind, Mr. Evans.
She bows dramatically, and he sighs, even though, in truth, it feels like an enormous relief that they were slowly setting back into their old routine. He shakes his head.
Come one. As you pointed out, I'm a little busy right now, but at least let's get you away from the cold.
She nods and then winces, face becoming more pale - he reacts fast, knowing the symptoms that would follow soon after. Quickly and without a word, he takes her hand, and she follows as the double doors slide open before them, his fingers lifting in the most familiar way, wrapping around her wrist. He still didn't understand how this strange magic between them worked and what it really meant to be a healer. And maybe he never would. But it doesn't stop him from putting his thoughts into action, focusing on spreading warmth to her body, concentrating intensely on building a vision in which she feels better, willing the action into existence. It takes a moment, but finally, she seems to relax a little, and he turns around to make sure.
Much. Thank you.
She whispers softly, and it takes all of his willpower to let go of her hand. Yet he does. Letting out a sigh, already missing the closeness that the little gesture provided, troubled by how attached to her he seemed to be, by how familiar it was just to be around her. At times, it got difficult to remember life before she stormed onto his path like the unstoppable force of nature that she was. Nora's stare lifts, meeting his, but he just shakes his head.
Sometimes, there were no words for all the crazy things going on inside someone's soul.
55. https://theprose.com/post/706205/the-motion-and-interaction-of-erratic-things (part 2)
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those rearranging wings and amber hues
the subconscious mind is aware
of the many worlds
unfolding in each moment
― Kevin Michel
The morning light filters through a little window, the soft sound of her humming in the shower filling the bright, serene bathroom. She's still exhilarated after what she just did, everything in her buzzing as the images of white and orange lights seem to circulate and bounce off her skin, so incredibly vivid and brilliant in her mind. It's something that plays on repeat under her closed eyelids, making the body sway to an unknown tune, something familiar but unreachable, like the lyrics of an old song, with words that you just can't catch no matter how much you try - a faded out dream filled only with colors, sensations, and warmth that reminds you of sunrays, comfort and heated, lazy summer afternoons. She shakes her head at all the new feelings that wrap around her, causing a million and one sensations to hit her all at once.
A small, rational part of her mind wants to separate itself from the things it cannot explain, looking for a logical answer to everything that happened to her, to a moment so magical that it could never be real. Just a strange figment of her imagination, maybe sudden insanity that she had no idea was brewing inside of her. The reasonable side tells her to forget all about it, to let go, and maybe look for some professional help. And yet, she doesn't. Instead, she smiles, sinking and swimming deeper in the energy that takes over everything else - in the most amazing, delicious, thought-bending ways. If this was a drug that her body somehow was able to create on its own, then she never wanted to come off it. It felt like flying - as if floating on the softest of clouds, swirling between the golden sun and the sky's perfect cerulean blue.
Stepping back from that heaven no longer seemed to be an option.
She inhales deeply as everything around her feels slightly different, sounds different, and even smells in a new way that she couldn't quite describe. It's subtle, and yet it fills her up, a little shift in the atmosphere as if her entire world was a box, and somebody tilted it barely by a few degrees, wedging a microscopic flat pebble under it and changing its angle. Your matrix has changed, while everything else ticks just the same. A thought comes unexpectedly that doesn't seem to be her own, but she brushes it off, too entangled in the endorphins that curse through her system like a swarm of tiny bees buzzing restlessly. It feels like the most natural high in the world that she never wants to stop experiencing. Her fears, doubts, and worries seem to change color and consistency, forming themselves into something too small to matter. The water turns cold, but she doesn't notice, still smiling with her eyes closed, humming and murmuring to something that came to life inside of her - the body still swaying, arms lifting and moving to a soundless rhythm, hands dancing while her fingers play an invisible tune.
She gets lost in it so much that everything around her disappears, delicate signs of something shifting and expanding inside, fading out, replaced by all the new things that hit her with each subtle breath and tiny action. She's so entangled in all the sensations swirling around her that she doesn't notice the moment when an orange light wakes up to life and cascades unhurriedly from her dancing fingers, turning into a smoke-like matter, twirling and then flowing down slowly until it reaches the ground, slithering eagerly between the slightly cracked shower door. Once the smoke touches the floor, it divides itself into several stains made out of light, with irregular, breaking lines, drifting for a while and then stopping without any particular pattern in a few places on the tiles beneath it. She twirls around, almost in slow motions, murmuring soft sounds, her hands never stopping their little dance, each of her movements setting the rich golden and amber hues into motion, slightly more erratic with each passing moment - almost as if interacting with their mistress's influence.
After a moment, the energy-shaped structures coloring the white ceramic floor start to flicker, creating edges above the soft smoke, forming unstable squares that turn around on their own axis. Faster and faster until the edges become more defined, locking inwards into upside-down triangles.
hourglasses constructed from electricity
soft chaos playing on your floor
The amber stains start to sizzle as if burned power lines and lightning in the making, reacting to her every move, getting stronger with each shift of the silhouette, each deeper breath, each exhale - feeling like an invisible orchestra playing faster and louder, every fraction of a second enhancing its melody - what once was only a calm andante, and a full of joy allegro, now has shifted into something darker, less in control - energy in the room that seemed to whisper with bliss with every moment.
It was eager, greedy, overruled with delight from finally being out, its crumpled wings constructed from wires and charged cords in need of spreading. Find a melody that fits this energy; you know it's out there - a voice murmurs and something snaps and cracks, sizzling against the tiles, until the smoke mixing with the amber light becomes ash black, the smell of burned plastic filling the bathroom. She stops in place, frozen, finally breaking out of the invisible rhythm that had her under a spell. She looks confused around the small shower cabin and quickly turns off the water. She stays there for a moment - shivering uncontrollably and jumping in place from the cold that hits her, arms crossed tightly over her chest.
Shiiiiit...! What the hell?
She jumps out of the shower cabin and wraps a big purple towel around her, blinking in disbelief, teeth chattering loudly, her frantic stare scanning the bathroom back and forth as if searching for answers. With a heart racing like crazy, she inhales deeper and scrunches her face, the stench of something burnt irritating her nose. She keeps blinking fast with eyes big and round like saucers, her mouth slightly open in a surprised "o" - thinking she must look like a complete idiot, but unable to make her limbs move even by an inch. Eventually, her eyes land on the floor, threatening to fall out of their sockets as the black stains on the tiles come into full view. She stares at it incredulously and looks behind her, almost expecting some invisible intruder to pop up like a character from a lame B-category-level horror movie she always loved to make fun of. But there is no one there. She inhales, trying to calm herself down, and walks over to the dark shapes, crouching next to them, one hand holding the towel around her and the other cautiously touching the tiles as strands of her wet hair fall forward, drops of water creating tiny puddles on the floor. She frowns as the dark matter stains her fingers, leaving a thin film of something that resembles ash, or soot that's left in a fireplace after the last flames die out.
She whispers, slowly getting up, swearing that the stains weren't there before, yet the anxieties and fear scratching at her insides start to make her doubt the whole thing. Was there anyone there? Or was SHE the chaos again? Untamed and dangerous.
No. No. No.
She shakes her head and clenches her jaw - she won't let the thoughts linger this time; they won't turn her into the same scared creature as before. There was something about her that felt stronger, more secure, grounded. It would help her gain control over something dark inside of her that crept under her skin, dormant under the buzzing, beautiful energy - something that matched the ash-black stains on the bathroom floor.
She speeds to the guest bedroom where all her stuff is - a small bundle of it, to be honest, just basic necessities. Clothes, a few cosmetics, a book or two, a sketchbook, and a bunch of used graphite and color pencils. She quickly starts to put on some clothes, wanting to disconnect herself and forget about the bathroom scene as soon as possible, denial being her strongest (and maybe the only) armor against the freakish reality that has rapidly taken over her life. And as she jumps into some sporty underwear, a pair of black jeggings, and a white cotton t-shirt, her mind wanders around without her permission to a few days back. Learning that somehow she had kinetic abilities and could lift objects in the air with the power of her mind was surreal enough - to know she could actually free light out of her freaking fingers - well, that blew off all the charts and left only smoke and rubble behind. Sadly, sometimes LITERALLY. She thinks of the dent in Mel's car and the poor fate that her lounge chairs had to suffer, and so many other of the things her friend picked for her house with so much care.
Suddenly, overwhelming guilt rages in her body, seeming to physically scorch her skin and insides. Her whole form sags a bit as she hides her face in her hands, the long dark hair falling slowly forward like soft, sticky seaweed in the depths of an ocean, leaving the face in the shadows. Finally, she shifts and straightens her back, shoulders rolling a few times, arms tightly sticking to her sides, fists clenched with force. This won't break her. Nothing will. She will eventually pay Mel for all the damages she has caused and slowly become stronger. Not as scared, not as weary and small. She will practice whatever is inside of her until the beast is tamed. She shivers slightly, thinking of the invisible claws scraping at her skin and clawing through her insides. She was still terrified of everything that was happening to her, a scared and confused child in a world filled with rules that she didn't know. But she will. She's fucking strong and nothing can stop her when she sets herself a goal. And what a better goal there is than survival itself. She knew how to deal with shit in her life, and this was no different. She's going to beat this. She has to because the alternative was to... She shivers, trembling all over, the fear once again making residence under her muscles, seeming to cast sharp metal needles into her bloodstream.
Eyes shut, she feels something growing in her, something uncontrollable, something so ravenous that it speaks of nothing else but hunger and devastation. Eternal flames. The words pop up in her head, and she shakes her head, swallowing. She wasn't the same girl she was a couple of weeks ago. She saw a subtle yet noticeable difference. Maybe not in the way that she talked to others or how she behaved, but in the way her thoughts flew. Almost endlessly, becoming deeper and more vibrant with each day. Especially after this morning's session with Mel, and before, after passing out in the garden - it shifted something inside of her, and stuff started opening up that she didn't even know existed. It was hard to believe these out-of-this-world, freaky powers that suddenly landed on her like a pile of explosive, flaming bricks. No, it was something that she was still navigating to understand. It was in the way her whole body was reacting when the light escaped her fingertips, almost like on a cellular level. Her thoughts becoming her heartbeats, and her breaths becoming her foundation. It was almost as if an entirely new person was hiding between her muscles, her ribs. This smarter and faster, feeling deeper and reacting to everything in such a new way creature inside of her.
It was her, and at the same time, it wasn't.
At moments, she was just Ray. This crazy girl with wild dreams, a heavy attitude, and scattered thoughts in a constantly too-active body. Just a kid with too much ADHD in her head - as some used to say when she was younger. Maybe they were right. But now... she has become this thing that she did not understand and was scared of - terrified, and yet constantly pulled with powerful force into its direction. She felt both weaker and stronger with the thing that took over her life. Was it always there? Was this always meant to happen? She shivers as the sudden chaos grows in her even more, calling for her attention, ruling her every thought and breath. With a hammering heart, she looks down at the source of what she was feeling, her stare stopping at her clenched fist, faint orange light trapped in her grasp as if a tiny lightbulb hiding in her closed hand.
What the fuck?
She jumps but is too scared to open her hand; instead, she gazes at it mesmerized as if under a spell. She stumbles back slowly and watches the light in her closed fist become more vibrant and darker. A ripe, blood orange dripping under the Tuscan sun. The thought is both so surreal and beautiful that it causes her to regain some control over her body. Slowly, she unclenches her fingers, the orange light with red crimson hues flashing before her, circulating her hand as with an unnamed question and curiosity, eagerly inspecting its surroundings. She watches as it tickles her skin, bringing warmth with it. So alluring, so inviting. She thinks and inhales deeper. The light slowly bends and shifts in a way that makes her realize it is forming a shape. First slowly and then faster and faster, without warming, becoming rounded and fuller, its color even more vibrant until it becomes a little flickering ball, an orb. A miniature sun at your disposal. Another thought pops up, but she's too confused to wonder where it actually came from as if it wasn't entirely hers. She watches the orb lift gently in the air, cautiously in a way, and then something shifts in the air, the edges of her little sun sparking, exploding like the dark holes on its life-size twin. It feels hungry. It feels angry. She starts to hyperventilate, panic setting, both freezing her and surprisingly at the same time letting her move again.
Her eyes close as she tries to breathe more steadily, forcing herself to calm down. Just breathe. Just breathe. That's all you have to do right now. Just breathe. She chants over and over again; not letting herself look at her hand or the moving orb, its crimson threads scaring her even more. Happy thoughts, Ray. Happy, soft thoughts. Come on, you can do it. She knew it sounded stupid, but it was something that Mel had instructed her to do, and funny enough, most of the time, it seemed to help. Or maybe it was just Mel's presence alone?? She starts to panic again but quickly makes herself focus. Good things. Soft, warm, fuzzy. She shifts her head to the sides doing her best to bring some positive images into her mind. Suddenly, she thinks of a particular smile - a seductive smile that is both soft and challenging. She thinks of eyes that are so green that they resemble a luscious emerald meadow on a summer afternoon. Lilly. Her mind whispers, and something in her becomes softer, more steady, and peaceful as if the images were gentle enough to calm her down and at the same time powerful enough to ground her like a heavy, iron anchor. She inhales deeply and feels a strange sensation, like all of a sudden there is more room in her mind, making space for new things, letting her rearrange her unique self into a freshly molded structure. As if someone had built a nest in her mind, one fitted precisely for her redefined wings. She remembers how it felt to let out her energy this morning, how gentle it was, how playful, how it tickled her skin as if with the softest caress.
She focuses on the sensation and that sensation alone.
Slowly, she opens her eyes and looks around the bedroom, and then heads downstairs cautiously, her legs seeming to be made out of cotton, play-doh, and scotch tape. She peeks into the hallway and the living room area, a part of her brain expecting mayhem and devastation, furniture and the house in ruin. But no, everything is perfectly in place, not one thing out of order, sunlight filtering lazily through the white curtains, coloring the floor with warm, honey shades. Then finally, she dares herself to gaze down at her hands and notices a tiny little orb in the center of her hand - a baby in comparison to what it was before. And then it crackles softly and makes a "poof" sound. Her eyebrows lift as she inspects her hand from every angle, bringing it close to her eyes and scanning each line, dent, and crinkle. Nothing. As if it was never there. She shakes her head, her mind blown away completely.
WHOA. Who needs weed when I have this, right??
Once again, she shakes her head and grabs a big, blue leather bag that she swings over her shoulder. She opens the door of her friend's house and quickly locks and closes it behind her, her head shaking slightly as she walks over to an old spare bike parked outside that Mel has lent to her. And then she keeps shaking her head the entire way to the cafe, her brain not being able to process and keep up with all the new data it had to deal with. Life just kept getting weirder these days.
And surprisingly enough, she thought that perhaps she was beginning to like it.
* Andante – at a walking pace, moderately slow
* Allegro – quickly, lively, cheerful
Hey, you guys. Yes, I know it's been a while ;)
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of a body, and scars that still inhale beauty
sinking in the currents, counting the waves against a cold body
wash away the sins in the dark, she said to me
at the stroke of midnight between fingertips, water cleanses
and I sink even deeper
( the deepest ledge you can jump off without losing yourself completely )
the antagonist said there is not enough light between hollow spaces, but I know that water covers every surface of a hollow heart,
this used to be a warm place, this used to be home, veins heating the skin
and breaths of unsaid words filling our walls
even counted sighs can bring relief
and now, just ashtrays left on the ground, and fog against the surface of the mirror
rough tiles treated by time, and smooth in places you don’t want to touch, yet they feel
and here I lay in the shallow creek that covers my lips, enabling me to breath
you can but you don’t want to, lost in the passages of time, challenging your lungs to hold the whole world in their fragile cells, but you stay there, you stay till the fire touches your chest, as if a passionate lover, destroying you in the best of ways,
but you want to feel, you so desperately want to feel,
so you let it, you let it consume you until you are just a state of useless strings raving in commotion, but it’s not that, not that, annihilation is not your final line, it’s just the beginning as it all takes you in, challenging your state, challenging yourself, sinking even deeper under the darkness that swallows the stars, points of light on your skin
guiding you on a path that causes you to stumble on harsh shards,
the black ink within your veins building patterns for all that still lives in you, it wants to live, doesn’t it? you know it does, that’s why you sink in the waves, child,
that’s why you drown in the oceans of your own eyes, you drown in the cells
that build her universe,
the surface of the mirror cracking and showing your flaws,
the marks that can still inhale beauty
but now, just ashtrays, just ashtrays on the ground, heavy smoke in the walls, coloring your soul in stained yellows and fractured greys, but yet you sink into it all,
waiting to the last moment until every living matter of space burst out of your chest, and then you breathe, oh how you breathe, a newborn gasping for air that consists of flowers and thick sweet murmurs, swallowing unconditional love in its soft skin,
and then you hear it, you hear it so well, the thing that was lost for so long,
your core, your heart, ruby vessels hugging the world within you, and it's there, it screams, it burns, it sings so loudly, and in that one moment when there is nothing, you’re lost, you’re lost but you are found
I dare you to breathe
and it’s there, you know it is, just you and that moment when everything fades away,
just like a skipping of a single heartbeat, constructed of time
there’s nothing else you need, and you realize you’re not drowning but flowing in between songs built of everything and nothing, perfection caused by gentle chaos,
and suddenly, you’re the time, it runs through you, it breaths, but it doesn’t move for anyone else but her, she’s the reason
and somewhere in the back of your mind a distant whisper touches your skin, letting you know that the world still exists, that time still rushes forward,
and then your eyes open, refusing slumber that came from ice and frozen hopes,
it felt like snow, didn’t it? oxygen in space or the lack of it, and then you see it, noticing details, stains of matter within countless voids that were there before,
noticing the edge of the bathtub and the waves falling on the dirty tiles, how they cover the doors and sink into the purple rugs, dripping ceilings, and naked floors beneath your tender spine, yours and the house
and finally, yes finally, time and space cracks,
and it’s midnight touching the windows, and it's the night resting on your eyelids and caressing that place behind your ears, always sensitive to touch, always,
and it’s the sound of the wind and the creations sinking into you, sinking deep into you and washing away your sins, such beautiful scars they make, don’t they?
the ones that only you can touch, rough to you in its own strength,
but so smooth to the one that sees you with soft light, but loves your shadows,
despite how heavy you feel, despite how blind you became to the beauty of your structures, she sees it with her fingertips dripping of soul and honey,
with a heart that’s filled with space dust and gas, a tiny nebula resting in each of those craving particles, beating red, velvety dreams made from countless explosions, how clearly she sees you between the walls you build so well, pushing aways the layers of damaged skin, passing through the still bruised muscles and counting your ribs
as if searching for the key that only you can give her
and it bursts again, red flashes of crimson and shimmering lights of flames, fireworks, feelings, yes, those fireworks and you, and it illuminates you, and you beg for release,
you beg the concrete parts of your heart to bleed again
and you beg your wanting soul to not hide crisscrossed thoughts, and there’s a scream, there’s a wail, there’s a roar, and you do it, you strip every vein and muscle, sliding open your ribs, you do it, you do it with pain and joy,
and you do it, do you hear me ?
all the world goes quiet as you open your chest for her and despite every hurt part of yourself, that cries of fear and tattooed loneliness, you do it, you do it for her,
and in between all the chaos, you find your whisper and those gentle fingertips dripping of soul and honey, of the sun you always miss the most between snow and thick trees marking shadows, and all the space of faded light in between,
and suddenly the word home feels so good on your skin, and you’re breathing it, and you never knew, no, you never knew, that such a feeling could be a caress, a kiss that reaches your soul, a heart finally feeling warmth placed in the right hands, and you stand, and your legs shake and fingers slip against rusted porcelain,
but you still stand, catching gravity within your bones,
and your feet move, just one step at a time
and you feel everything shift slowly into new structures, you’re not whole, there will always be scars on those fragile veins, bruises on broken bones next to your core, darker parts of you that cry just the same as those embraced in soft light, but you’re standing, and there is a beating sound under your ribs, and a peaceful brightness within that soul of yours that always searched for a home
and you inhale, and you’re here, and you exist
you are here, and somehow, you survived, stronger than before, even when there are days
when all you feel is weak, damaged, chewed roots mixing with the strongest lights of moonlit love and you,
and now child...
I dare you to breathe
a home sewn into my blueprint walls
I'm not breathing either,
I'm just floating around
because I left my body with you
in our bed
I left my heart in your hands,
( I feel you stroke it still
every day with your thumbs )
I left my soul spread over a chair near our window,
I know you see it
before you fall asleep
I know you hear it whispering your name
in the softest of ways
I cannot find rest until I'm resting here with you
in our bed
in your arms
gliding my fingertips
over your heart
as you move the night stars back into my lungs
with air in your lungs, with kindness
All is well, and all will be fine. Forgive yourself for the things that are out of your control. You are love, strength, a boundless life-force that has no fear in it, no doubt, no anger.
You are all and everything in between, a part of a never-ending creation.