silkandwind (![[info]](http://p-stat.livejournal.com/img/userinfo.gif){kind=small} silkandwind) wrote,@ 2005-01-04 03:57:00 |
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It's been a little over a year.
I didn't need the date to remember.
I knew by the feel of the season.
This time of year directly connects me to the memory.
Its hard for these fingers to freeze and not remember braving the harshest of days.
Haunting coincidences keep appearing.
I do not want these things connected.
But they always will be, always have been.
It's impossible to impede these impulses, especially mine.
I would give anything right now to drown in a small, warm pond.
Be covered in lilly pads.
Face the murky mud forever.
Tilt with every strong breeze,
flickering like silk in the wind.
I think I could do this.
A lesson every day, magic every minute.
Everything is connected. We all just a big fucking version of Chutes and Ladders.
I dreamt about him again last night. He mentioned the dream, intent on me telling the DreamtAbout. I promised I would, but I needed practice. We rehearsed it with an air of serious childish play. Him, maybe suspecting, maybe not, gently played along. He came up to me at the party and asked if I had done it yet, I said, "No, I will let you know when." Ten minutes later I pull him aside, drop my chin down and breathe it in his ear, "It's you. The dream was about you." He cupped his hand on the back of my neck and dropped his head, mimicking mine. We stood there for awhile, too faint-hearted to move. I could feel the abrasive sand compound and frigid waxen wall on the back of my arms. My heart mechanically beating, his gasping uncontrollably.
I didn't need the date to remember.
I knew by the feel of the season.
This time of year directly connects me to the memory.
Its hard for these fingers to freeze and not remember braving the harshest of days.
Haunting coincidences keep appearing.
I do not want these things connected.
But they always will be, always have been.
It's impossible to impede these impulses, especially mine.
I would give anything right now to drown in a small, warm pond.
Be covered in lilly pads.
Face the murky mud forever.
Tilt with every strong breeze,
flickering like silk in the wind.
I think I could do this.
A lesson every day, magic every minute.
Everything is connected. We all just a big fucking version of Chutes and Ladders.
I dreamt about him again last night. He mentioned the dream, intent on me telling the DreamtAbout. I promised I would, but I needed practice. We rehearsed it with an air of serious childish play. Him, maybe suspecting, maybe not, gently played along. He came up to me at the party and asked if I had done it yet, I said, "No, I will let you know when." Ten minutes later I pull him aside, drop my chin down and breathe it in his ear, "It's you. The dream was about you." He cupped his hand on the back of my neck and dropped his head, mimicking mine. We stood there for awhile, too faint-hearted to move. I could feel the abrasive sand compound and frigid waxen wall on the back of my arms. My heart mechanically beating, his gasping uncontrollably.
