I am a child again. I step onto the bus. I listen to music. I watch as my own Tara opens up to me. Fields and Mountains surrounding every corner of this world. I sigh and wish for some outlet for the bubbling ecstacy that this place seems to bring to me now. The air is still and cool, saturated every fiber and cell of my being.
I observe different pigments of green, in the mossy trees, reflecting in pools of water, on blades of faded and dirty winter grass. I think on different things. I think on the lovely reflections in the river.
I love the river, the river I believe, loves me. I picture myself crawling through the tiny bus windows, floating out, flying down into the bath of glitter and smiles.
I swim down.
Rushing to the bottom, tossing and turning I reach for the mussels at the muddy floor. These are rare mussels, they only live here and no where else in the world. In my river. My paint rock river.
Drenched and airless, I float down into myself, still sitting on brown leather seats.
Trees fly by me as we gain momentum. THey fly...swoosh, swoosh, swoosh...by me.
From this seat I look out and observe every joy in this morning. I float, with a hidden smile, behing my stone face, the rest of the way down the ribbon of concrete, to my destination.
Upon my arrival I find you. And I am a child again.
I love you.
How can you understand my love. I watched as a child, always wearing a party dress, weeping at broken balloons, weeping really, all the time. With the balloons, your heart broke. Tiny pieces reserved into your small mind. But the feeling was strong and held on. Real love, love of another without their love in return. Only wanting, deeply and passionately your happiness. I love you. More than...
I love you.
From a flooded river
and she covered the feilds and saturated the earth
cows sloshed in grassy marshes
dirty and happy
in the night
a sweetly decieving
warm blanket crept over the beast
they slept and grew cold dispite the bunch of wool wrapped 'round their bodies
from damp and disease
the beast coughed, and died
How could I let this happen? Would it be possible to take the beast, as a child, and cradle her until she's big and strong. No, not possible nor practical.
Like a hollow, bitter wind I was swept from her existence. Swept from her beauty, swept from her pain. At first, in the budding weeks of her new garden, I could see in her a kindling warmth. This warmth filled her eyes and gave her a gentle blush about her cheeks. The heat grew. A fire combusted, flames consumed and suffocated, penetrated, her innocence.
A small white rose fell from the vines that crawled through her garden. The vines retreated from reaching out. When the rose landed, it turned to dust.
With me, dust is carried away by a violent and hungry storm. Upon landing I stood and watched the dust settle on my feet, in my hair, chalking the dust into the skin. This is not my dust!
Like guilt the dust clung to me. I blew it away, it came quickly back. It blew in my eyes and burned them, making all around me a blur. Blindly, I swept the dust into a small glass box. I then wrapped the fragile thing with bubble wrap, put it inside a cardbourd sculpture and sent it through the mail, where it reach her.
I'm here for you now. Im almost angry that you refused my package, I suppose I can understand. Yet, there is so much you don't understand. I was only trying to help you. Who else would suffer your loathing to tell you that they're all peeking at you through an opaque window. You're naked. Lovely, temptress, you are beautiful. But you are not alone. And you are still young, as I was. I simply ask you.
Does it bother that we all watch you naked, walking with him like Adam and Even. Eating forbidden fruit and keeping each peeling so that no one will see. They can't look at you without seeing his hands. I'm sorry.
This morning I was filled with complete joy, it consumed me so that, I thought I might not contain it, might not care if my body broke apart to let it into the world. Please feel this joy. I understand you as a child, and though you may not be again, childlike, I know...KNOW how much you would glow with the joy.
I came to you, opened your letter. You sang and angry song. I wept at your song and was unable to reply. The accusations before me were of a bitter nature, and I had no room to believe such spite was seething from your angry claws. How devoutly you sang, as if you sincerely believed I intended to harm you. And I would never, ever dear cousin try to harm you.
Admittedly my concerns sometimes make me seem foolish. I don't know what else to say.