you held me then and i felt elated. i was unsure and sure at the same time. everything else was a blur. i guess it had something to do with the alcohol. but, most of it was because of those hands. it took away all my worries. it warmed me up inside. it was better than any game i’ve ever played, better than any movie i’ve ever watched, better than any book i’ve ever read. those hands were better than all of them combined. this was what started it all. i miss those hands on mine. i miss you.
let me tell you about that one time you held my hand and whispered softly how two became one at the nick of time. let me breathe into your heart with tender thoughts of make believe and dreams. how you’ll sleep when i sleep. how you’ll creep into my arms and snuggle there as long as it takes. let me tell you how i wish that time would stop and everything else just slips by without anything or anyone distracting our obsessions. its easier to dream of unrealities. to slip outside the covers of the world. to tell you how wishes and words become a river of ideas flowing endlessly. how you steal away my creativity.
listen to the night’s noise as it screeches its way towards your ears and through your imagination, you feel compelled to shrink away under the soles of your feet. hide beneath it like an ostrich hides its head under the ground. beneath the covers, you shiver and shake. all the while, thinking it would satisfy the need to unhear the already heard noise. tickling your imagination of monsters and dark slithering creatures. you take a peek though and see the mirror in your peripheral vision. you close your eyes, wishing to unsee it. your mind’s eye imagines the different things it can reflect. or the different things it can inhabit. you hide away once more. time stands still when you’re in the state of make believe.
i’d let you win over and over. i’d let you have your way with me. i’d let you smile. i’d let you walk away. or stay.
i can now see the invisible strings tied tightly around my joints. the hidden puppeteer is leading me towards a cliff. much like the rats and children of hamelin. i feel the fear of the fall. for once i do, i may not be placed together again. but alas, i have fallen. and, has now been laid to waste into that deep abyss of romeo and juliet’s tragedy.
