Sunday, September 23, 2012

It's annoying, lingering thoughts. Seeing her pictures, pale skin, a timid glow 'neath brighter and darker tones, a  curve appears, my cheeks stretch, and crumple up into a smile. My eyes fix to distant nothings, I hear nothing save for her quiet voice and the wind of my mind. I see her face in this distance, she is nearer to me, in my eyes, than I am to her. Imagine her in a white chair, wrapped in white fur sweater, comfortable in black leggings.So caught up in my white fantasy, I forget I have face, an entire body to conduct. The thick vision is sucked away, slightly startling me, and I am left with mild confusion. A metal frame shakes a pane of glass, as a gentle and curious breeze invites itself in. "Why can't I stop thinking about her?" I say, but my voice trails off, my head and my eyes lower, I become introspect and ponder greater things. "Can't stop? I can't stop? That seems a bit far. I've only thought about her twice today - a little bit last night - and a lot these last two weeks." Two weeks is a lie, one I must resolve. I circle the dinning area, thinking circular thoughts (living on a sphere). She came to me the other night. I gave myself to late mystery of the night, and she arrived early enough, that I still remembered our rendezvous.

We were in a house, the outside was small, but the inside was huge. I stood facing the entrance door, the living  room to my left. In front of me, she stood naked with soft, dark, firelicked, hair. She had lost her clothes, or perhaps, her clothes had not found her today. Glowing like a photograph, she approaches, and slips me a sweet smile. Our arms make love as we hug. The glowing woman takes me by the hand, and I follow her lead. Quickly, it hits me. This is her house. There are toys in the living room for her children. The shelves are filled with books. The air is thick with longing and taboo. I'm expecting not to expect someone. The quick realization vanishes and I'm above her. Her body is not what I remember, it has changed, the way a tree ages.
We exit the bedroom, she leads me toward the entrance down the hall, but this time, not by hand. Clothing has found her. A creaking noise shrieks from the entrance, the light shining through the crystal panes inspire rainbows, and the white door swings open. It is he who I expected, but he is not who I expected to see. Respectfully, surprised, I stare silently. She waves a familiar wave, says a few words, and smiles before disappearing through the living room. Now, on familiar terms, I approach him, and he extends for a handshake. We make our way to the couch. It appears I'll be staying a while. He asks a question, but I am too focused on his weird appearance to fully pay attention to his words. I answer his questions on auto-pilot. His hair is not like I remembered. Instead, it's long, greasy, and uncombed. His nose is red, burnt and porous; oily. A blue and yellow truckers hat rests on his head, and he wears a blue t-shirt with a orange safety vest. "What has happened?" I wonder. We talk for a while, while she cleans up the toys.

I get a goofy smile on my face when I think about that funny lady; the strangeness of our intersecting lives. 

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