sleepinnude
It keeps low and calm, the twilight muttering through the room, cascading down on our two bodies, arching in to intertwine yet kept completely separate. Fingers twitch closer and closer, coming toward one another. Touching only...not...quite.
It's without even trying that it happens, that the words spill onto the page, like blood from my very veins. Without thought, without pause, without effort.
It takes courage. It takes courage and blood and broken bones. It takes cocktails, mixed and stuffed and lit, not stirred. It takes cocktails thrown at buildings and through windows and igniting the night sky. It takes fists raised and fists clasped. It takes razing. It takes force. It takes us against them.
Are the words so dull that they fall from my tongue and pierce through to neither of your ears? How many can I use to keep telling my story, my side, over and again without you realize from where it is that I come? Do I need some sort of grinding stone to get you to be able to relate?
His kingdom was a lasting one. He ruled with fairness yet firmness. He knew his people and loved them all. It was no wonder when his castle was razed, leveled to the prosperous ground by a vicious tyrant with no thought but to progress his own power.
It fills with the warm glow of a hand reaching out, an offering, an anything. An "I am human as you are human." A "You are human as I am human." Respect and trust and all the pixie dust that seems to have so long ago diffused into cynicism and one-up-man-ship. I am human as you are human. You are human as I am human. I respect that and I respect your feelings and I respect you.
It's the leap of words springing out and springing forth and I would like to crank it all back down, like cramming a spooked Jack-in-the-Box away. Too late now, though. Too late because it's all been said and spilled and launched over the dirty linoleum to our scuffed shoes, waiting for a response.
The stacks linger in the corners of rooms, gathering dust and near-forgotten memories. Memories of a time adored, of a time of fingers lingering carefully and awe-struck faces leaned in close to technicolor lives and cramped print spelling out adventures of near-fictional cities and larger-than-life, in-humans and super-humans.
writing since 2011 · 8 entries · 8 days shown up
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the words allison reaches for
humanrespectwordsdustnearmemoriesfingershumansspringinglatecouragebloodcocktailsfistscloserstacks