We talked often about our dreams. She described hers as spirals. I never had words for mine. The images would hang within my cheeks and cry silent whispers. We'd share the stumble; she never understood. I could never explain.

Her pictures were bold. I felt as if I could construct it all before me. The asphalt dripped with the intentions. Sunlight reflected the concepts back into my eyes. They were beautiful; I used to think they were beautiful.

It felt strange. I was pushed towards a cliff overlooking her whole self. It was always spinning and twisting; touching; touching; touching. Personable, but not my own person. Why would you dream that way? I could dream, but there were no words. Fucking words.

She'd be next to me, overlooking the edge. Her red hair fell at lengths. It mixed with her images, painting it a light red. Reminded me of blood. That was how I knew it was real. We were travelling along her veins. I could taste the iron. It burnt my tongue.

I never understood the birds. There calls were far from how I understood. Perhaps I understood in a too specific way. She always seemed to fit the birds in perfectly somehow, but they seemed wrong and awkward within me. Was I misunderstanding it all? Weero! Weero! A love call? An announcement? I am she, Sora Takenouchi! But I never knew; I never knew. Did they fly above those spirals? Did they hold onto her teeth when they fell out?

I could never tell her my own dreams. There were times I would try to veil them within words. I'd repeat them, over and over and over; it was planned and ready to be performed. But when we would meet, I could not find those words any more. And I would remember they were all lies to begin with, always. It would not have been a painting, but a sales pitch.

It was not that I did not try. I would ache and scream without a noise. The strokes, just as beautiful as hers, were touched and ordered. It was! It was! I dreamed, I did I swear. Please believe me! I had them, there are only hiding within my head. But I do not lie! I am not lying!

She never believed me. Some game you like to play, she'd tell me. It hurt, but it was not her fault. What reasons did she have of believing me? She could put hers into words. I understood, except for those birds. She was flying upon them over me, and I was tied down. I was tied down by words.

words

words

Date: June 16, Cold Sweat, After Dawn and Barely Remembered...

A dream in words:

There were three of us. I sat on the park bench, defined and myself. The other two were different. They were the others. Who they resembled? I'm not sure. From before she wore a tube top, purple and striped. But that was before now, and she may have changed. To my right, she sat with a jovial expression. Where the third was, I do not know. She could have been anyway, everywhere, but here she was irrelevant.

They'd shown me the town before. It was similar with its winding streets and red store fronts. The sun hung in the middle; clouds clashed with their albion reaches. There was a tranquillity in sound, I could not say what I could hear. I did hear the mood, for it came to me through my ear. It was calming. I'd been to the city before, but I'd never been to this city before. They were both old friends who I had never met before.

On the park bench, sitting. She'd breathe in a wave. Her construction fore fronted by the calm. It was all centred.

I brushed my hand by hers. There was a moment. Broken and muted; transfigured into the singular. All was crushed through the tunnel expanded by the gaze. Stillness! This here was alienated by the rest, but within the alienation contained all. It was all here!

She grasped my lower arm. I could barely feel. The damp breath extended out from my pores.

Turning; I grabbed the elbow of her other arm. The movement felt mechanical and determined. I did not see the town. I did not see the sun. I just did. It was not separate from me. I was not pushed from some exterior force. It was just that, beyond thinking, beyond seeing, beyond witnessing, I knew to do. My whole life, in every fucking situation, I have never participated. I've observed and calculated and analysed. Here, in an epiphany of self hood, I broke down my self imposed distinction between me and doing. I was my actions, and my actions were mine. It was I who grabbed her arm.

It was I!

And before reaction could be made; before I could break from myself to think and analyze, she moved forward. Towards me. We kissed. It was beyond delicate, nice, intimate, beyond any words I could try to put forward to explain it. It was. We kissed. And I was.

Then it was over. And I could think once more. I spent the rest of the night trying to replicate that moment, but I just kept thinking. Thinking about how I wished to return to that state. And crying, but crying without any tears or weeps. But on the inside, if there is such a thing as a me on the inside, I was crying.

-o-o-o-o-

Author's Notes:

I did not expect to make a third, but here it is! I hope you liked it. I've been enjoying making these, and I quite like the opportunity they give me to experiment with my style a little. Thank you!