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 Posted: Tue Apr 16, 2013 10:34 am
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Posted: Tue Apr 16, 2013 11:05 am
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Let's Describe Last Night's Dream
Kind of a poetry, I guess. sweatdrop
I was tasting the air for rain when I saw her.
Her hair was curly, of the soft sort. It bounced and danced in the wind, riding her movements; movements that might have looked everyday to anyone else. It fell down to her shoulders in quietly rambunctious waves, tainted in the light like honey or amber. Her eyes mimicked the sky in all its potential, in all its freedom, in all the ways it wasn't anchored. They reflected the sky just as they did the ocean; the depth to them, the monsters lurking beneath the surface, the beautiful danger. Her skin touched by the sun, but not enough to hide the delicate veins hidden underneath; shifting and bending with each ripple of soft muscle.
Her movements were graceful, like that of a ballet dancer whose muse was the wind and the quiet of the snow. Her footfalls were silent, leaving not a single mark, bare feet sliding through the grass. Her voice hummed and laughed as a river, but slid over me like mercury; clinging and soothing and slowly driving me mad, a delicious poisoning that would be my undoing as I could not stop listening.
Her touch.
Oh gods who watch over us, her touch.
Like dipping your feet in a cool river after a long, hot day. The kind of day that didn't have enough oxygen, that no amount of air conditioning could block out. That long, summer day the air could be seen and the sight hurt. A touch that could erase all the pain from the past that still dug with blunt fingers into your heels, trying to find the Achilles while it bit at your shoulders. Touch that cast a blanket soft as cotton and spun from unconditional love over my shoulders, enveloping me in safety.
I paused, reaching towards her, only to have her laugh-oh, that maddening laugh!-and twist away, slowly turning into vapor as the land around us turned white with snow and frost.
And then.
She was gone.
And then.
I woke up to an empty bed, reaching for a body that I knew wasn't going to be there. Like every time before. |
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Posted: Thu May 02, 2013 8:56 am
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Nyx and Hypnos
Nyx is night, and in Greek mythology a Titan. She had two sons, Thanatos and Hypnos. Thanatos is death, Hypnos is sleep. I dozed in a hammock and this popped up.
She blanketed me with dark coolness, wrapping it about my legs and arms and back, shielding me from the day's troubles. In the sky, she turned on all the nightlights, making patterns of them for my eyes to trace as I fell into the arms of her son. Her hands ran through my hair with a sigh, ruffling it and cooling my thoughts with smooth touches racing along my scalp. With those same hands she rocked me, gently, back and forth; not so little that I wouldn't notice, and not so much as to render me ill. She sang a lullaby with crickets and grass and trees, while her son slowly painted my eyelids with a cool, heady drowsiness.
And when her son finally won over, he spirited me away to a world that wasn't a world, in a place that wasn't a place, where time wasn't time. We scaled mountains and fought armies; ate feasts and wooed townspeople; saved the world and destroyed it; sought treasure and found adventure.
As was in accordance with our actions every time the sun set. |
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