unforgiven (early autumn midnight dream)

 

being in the presence of greatness causes my breath to slow down and my mind to race—it’s as if the world makes more sense and grows plump and bursts with saturated meaning and three-dimensional color. a rush comes over me, whipping my thoughts like leaves in the wind before the storm and threatening to sweep my body and send my actions twirling along; as if i have to do something right now or i won’t remember the greatness of this Light and the Gift of Understanding will go on to find a more worthy and respecting host.

is that what it’s like for you?

i feel as if i’d rather be specifically negative than generally positive, because there’s a drama in precision and a movement to negativity that i can’t ignore—like chocolate chips and caramel dreams and clean sheets fresh out the dryer.

still, i don’t think i am my patterns: i am what i do, but what i do is not me—even if the meaning is in the being. it matters not, though. until i move out of part-time theory and into permanent practice, my patterns will return like old friends who come by uninvited and don’t leave because they know where everything is—and they’ll continue to help themselves to my life because i had long ago told them that it was all for all and the master and the servant were one. and i know you remember. because you were there.

the night we fought the fires with laughs and our wings lit the way and we turned to each other and said:

you seem to have this unexamined, self-defeating, introspective circular logic thing going on. it’s cute when you’re you’re young and when you’re rich. other times, it’s just distractions and argued-for limitations and excuses put to poetry. you’re too grown, with too much left to do in this world and with too much a of a way still to be made for all that.

and we promised then, many lifetimes ago, that it would be the end of our destruction. we pinky-sweared and fucked on the back of a unicorn and i shot a rainbow inside of you and you dripped milk and honey on my lungs and we promised—promised—that we would never let the world get us down or again luxuriate in the decadent richness of our own darkness and that we would span civilizations and eras and see species come and go, but we would never, ever, never forget each other.

Tags: measures, miserole, plug, red, tape