Monday, July 15, 2013

Episode Z

My eyes are closed. Tiniest droplets of mist kiss the skin of my face. It evokes music. The music evokes you. I imagine you laying next to me, getting kissed by this ethereal mist gently drizzling from the overcast skies, with the tiny disk of the noon sun above like a halo, and you, the astronaut in your universe, floating with eyes closed, face up, your translucent veins pulsing rhythmically, imperceptible to any eye but mine. I will you to be here for where I am, you should be. Then I remember what I did. How could I be so naked in my yearning? Restlessness, shame, defiance -- all at once -- engulf me. Likely scenarios arising out of my minute-long weakness -- improbable imposition -- flash in my paranoid brain, making me wince. I am no longer the beautiful music playing in my soul, it's only a jumble of an orchestra before the conductor raises the baton. All I am is fear. And pain. Why does it hurt so much? Why am I not over? What will it take? How can I stop feeling what I feel? Hasn't it been too long for this to even be "in-love" phenomenon?... Only the jumble remains.

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