Along with personal thoughts and experiences, I’ll be posting bits and pieces of a story I’m currently working on. Feel free to leave constructive comments!
For me there is no transition from sleep to waking.
The dreams exist – I am in them – and then I am not. I open my eyes and notice you are gone. The soft curtains on the tall windows are spread wide, beckoning the moonlight in. I lay still for a breath. Stretching, I take inventory. My old wounds feel fresh for an instant: I feel the blood spurt from my neck; bones in my fingers break, heal, break again…
But I am here, in this grand house. Missing your presence. I slip out of bed, get to my feet, gingerly, gauging the soreness in my limbs. More stretching would help but I do not bother. Instead I limp to the closest window. Pressing my hot forehead to the shatterproof glass I peer downward and there you are, sprawled in the cold grass, staring up at the night sky.
I commit this scene to memory, telling myself: remember, remember, remember this moment of crystalline peace. For you are a painting, a work of art, a beautiful tapestry of interwoven hopes, fears, loves, miseries… and I will rip you apart. With my words, with my actions, or with my teeth – it does not matter. All that matters is this moment will be gone and only bloody, spit-coated tatters will remain.
