She was standing still, just like I was.  

Her hair swaying in same wind as yesterdays.

Everything was white  

The only exception being the crater.

That was black and a grey gradient.

Apart of her skin the same gradient three or four metres

Coming down from that crater.

It took me some time.

I didn’t want to believe that I couldn’t reach for her

And if I did, she would be cold.

If she wasn’t made of material,

Could I feel her warmth?

There was a soft thud, the sound vibrating through the air but loud enough to warn me.  

Its furry shadow flickered across the window.

The sheets where already above my head.

I was curled, terrified on what was to come. And yet...

A thud, another. A bang, a shriek.

Its teeth were scraping along the wood of the door.  

It was soon to come in, the collar given sitting beside me.

It wasn’t for it anymore.

She told me it was the perfect name.

I thought my name was perfect too.

Until I had to wear it.

its shadow emits over the window, creating darkness like the night.

It was quiet. It wasn’t scraping the door or thumping its feet.  

It was staring.  

I thought of it at least being peaceful.

But there is no peace in the silence it gives us.

...for half a day, at least, haha.

(sonnet #MMMMMMMMMLIII)


Rain lightly dances, where in that detail
An om'nous note seems lurks, til driving hence
Oh, how the highway's white, with tracks cut thence
Through by our passage, as ice or snow'd avail.
Work, as wont, turns all 'round til we'd 'most fail
To see ahead straight, yet Thy mercies, our defense,
Ne'er fail, and, new each morning, leave pretense
Aside to give us hope while dreams ask bail.
When all is oer we'll see again in tour
It wasna so bad after all.  We knew
E'en fun in measure, if to smile's not poor.
Likeas Thy psalmist wrote, to count maunt do
For they're more than be numbered.  Come, bestir
In us to sing Thy praise as we wait You.

27Dec24a

I was wedged between blue leather, scribbling axes into the shape of question marks; and you were laid on blue woven wicker, snoring and many miles away.
Now, I am sinking into fluffy blue polyester; and you are sleeping on a table carved of icy blue steel.
It is strange, isn't it?
I did not know you then, I will never know you now.

Can I kiss you beneath the Chestnut Trees? Capture you with my ancient branches, press you into my breast?
Will you curl nearer? Wind your roots with my own, Welcome me with dampened Spring soil? Shall we stay right here? Forever? Puffing in dusty pollen until Summer seeds sprout through our brittle cracks? Could we just? Should we just?

So, what happens now?
Now that it is all over.
Is there hope for us yet?
Yet? It is plain to see.
See that it is not so. It is not so.
So, what happens now? Now that it is all over.

They say I am like her,
and her,
but that is
blasphemous,
backhanded as
my sorrow must
bleed through.

Cannot make it
pretty,
there is no way
to make it
tender.
Cannot wish it into
a petal, a leaf,
there is no way
to warm the
sun.

They say I am like her,
but she is in
the dirt buried by
her own
hands-
and her hands
too!
She cried straight
into the
crypt.
Diagnosed with
the
disease of
death.

Do they also say
they hope
I end
like her,
or her,
too?