10-26-2009

It's been two years already. We were perfect, once upon a time. I promised, once upon a time.
But that was a long time ago. It feels longer than it has been. We met across time, across space. I was stuck here, and there and places blurred together and then fell apart. There's nothing in this life to replicate the artistry of being one whole individual, locked in a clock. It starts ticking backwards, and the lock is missing from the tower's door while the wolves are still howling, out on the moor.
Or maybe I've been dreaming. I used to dream. The songs flowed through my mind, and they got caught, laughing at me as I sought out words that would make sense to use. I've been hard pressed to choose which way I'm going to turn in the end. On the mend, I'll send you a postcard, I swear. I wish you were here, but of course…
You are sitting somewhere far away, staring at the desk, cords wrapped around your wrists, smiling. It's tape? Or something else? You will be there, sitting, eyes closed, that grin – maniacal – plastered across your face, and you'll begin laughing, just laughing, so softly at first, until the silence of sound extends. Then maybe you'll stop, and see something else. Singing. The rhythm of drums, mirrored in your mind. It's all a dream, isn't it? Or have we been playing songs of silence in the sadness, mixed with madness – was this gladness that brought the beginnings… It's not time to be awake. We're dead on our feet.
I'm sorry. I've been sorry, and I meant to apologize, but I couldn't quite get myself to say the special words. I died, a little inside when this first began, but those were supposedly tears of joy that brought us together. I'm sorry. I'm sorry. I've been trying, trying –
This exhaustion of being, of mind, of seeing. Believing.
I’m done believing.
If I was sorry once, I'm sorry now again, and question motives. It's time. It's been two years, but now it's been three, and sitting here, shitting on a field of victory that was lost… It's been costly, these years, these months, these days. We praised the sun, once upon a setting, getting higher off it. Do you remember? Or is it lost to the wind and the sands, the way your hands are now?
Call out words to the fields, and smile for me one last time, across the vast landscape of my imagination. You'll always be here, in my mind, grinning, sinning with a smirk. It's been your way since that day when we first accidentally connected. Maybe I'll be remembering that when the sky lights go black and the dew begins to form newly on the rocks of the ending of my universe. It's a curse, can't you see?
I invested so much into this, and what did I get out of it?
Everything.
Nothing.
I'm sorry. Whyfore, I cannot say, nor want I to, for speaking in tongues is the curse of a devil that lived with me for far too long. I'm trapped, and so are you, but you're freer than I ever was, and now you're waiting for the final days. I'm here, brushing fingers over grave letters, burnished lovingly by a man whose job is to play with the stones that serve their purposes through the ages. In stages, we've torn this down.
It's been two year, or maybe three. Now gone four… I'm sorry darling. You're gone – I can't do this anymore.
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She stands by the iron fence. Her back is pressed against it. Wind blows chill. She has no jacket. Rocks tower over her. Her arms are around herself as the traffic squeals in the background. The sun is descending. Trees glitter. She turns against the fence. It is cold and black. Her face is contorted. She ventures a step from the fence. Nothing moves. She seems to be looking for something. Her eyes are tear-filled.
The graveyard is still.