Floating (Part 1)

The Way That Dreams Taste: The Wilted Flowers Series

I will tell you a story about tomorrow. I ask of you that this story remains between you and me, for the walls may hear the whisperings that join the two of us. The bleak silence holds lots of space for words unspoken and thoughts too loud. Sometimes you can hear them if you listen closely; the mumblings of the walls. The soft hum of their voices echoes through the chamber in our minds, a voiceless paranoia hooking us in. I have heard what they say and have seen the visions they conjure. Too vivid for the simple shadow of my thoughts; the ones fabricated by the torment in me. They tell me of the way Tomorrow feels, keeping me up at night. Their mumbles no longer hushed tones, but rather, as loud as the rumble of the earth bellows at my frail feet; dragging me into their calloused and dark embrace.

Tomorrow feels like the way golden light beams down from beyond the atmosphere. It kisses my body from head to toe, warming my skin. My feet are submerged in tan sand, marking their territory. I hear the waves crashing against the shore, claiming its home. It is a tide too strong to be held captive and away from its lover. Always coming back to its destined fate, the deep kissing, the shallow, the ballad of the lover’s curse. I look up and it is night. The moon cascading across the blackness. A king in its throne. The stars are interlaced in a shadow that reminds me of a distant memory, of the incandescent lights illuminating the earth and protecting the heavens. Tied down by my feet, I am bound to the ocean water created by the moon. I am the universe’s favorite child. Moonchild sent from above, desperate to be back in my kingdom.

My hair is tangled in knots and twists I do not understand, yet your fingers are reorganizing the constellations formed on my head; the braids of solace unwind, and so do I. A gentleman’s touch. A sailor with his ship. I feel the ease in the shift, my shoulder blades expand, wings ripping through my back aching to be released. White clouds enveloping the skies. They are heavier than you might think. As dense as the rotten ground you were born from. Now, I am in the air. Flying. There is something strange in the way you’re looking at me. I wonder, do you want to come along?

I fill my pockets with opals and shells and submerge myself into the eternal bath of youth. The liquid engulfing my skin, parading into my chest, setting up camp between the cages of my ribs. The weight in my pockets pull me further down, down, down, deep into the depths of my despairs. I do not take a breath; I do not need to — for gills have formed on the side of my chest, ripping away at my ripe skin. I am swimming through the vast expanse. Pushing away the pieces of decay torn away by the tears of sorrow and pain, the ones I hid within the forest of trees I left behind. The sky cried sad tears, and it dripped into my head. My mind felt the cleanse first, drowning my agony into empty nothings. It was the first thing to go numb.

Tomorrow feels like you and I sitting across from one another. Eyes are locked, we are studying the secrets hidden behind our irises. We do not breathe, afraid to let each other go. You are the oxygen I crave, and I am yours to wholly devour. Our bodies do not touch, yet our souls are intertwined in the desperate dance we memorized. The one ingrained in the palm of our hands. Clinging on to another in the midst of empty spaces and meaningless crowds, we are the ones who they speak of in hushed tones, captivated by our misery. Our spirits sing a song of our damned fate, our heartbeats echoing the increasing pulse of the tempo. Speeding. Too quick. We are moving too fast. The meaningless crowd becomes a blur of crimson and gray, and the empty spaces form a barricade. My vision fades and I am sinking. Why did you smile when you let me go? 

My lungs are black and burnt and I should not be able to breathe but the sun and water have given birth to a plant and suddenly I am in a field of trees and my lungs are sitting next to me. 

Tomorrow is a dream, and I am still sleeping.