Thursday, August 18, 2005

From "Endeca"

She dreams of him behind violet eyelids. He pulse quickens inside blue veins. Everything is in color. The well is red. The swing she is on is white. On her feet are black shoes. She feels his hands pushing at her lower back each time her pendulum of motion takes her to him. She comes to him, he pushes her away with the knowledge that she will always come back.

In her dream, she closes her eyes, enhancing the sensation of falling and flying as the swing carries her up up up then back back back. Will she dream inside her dream? Will she fly as she falls?

Wake up next morning, she tells herself. No, wake up a hundred mornings from now. Tomorrow is too soon. The spell is cast; don't break it. Fill the sleeping mind with dreams and leave the days of being propped up like a ragdoll behind. There must be more in store for her than a lifeless childhood. There must be love, there must be meaning. I know he loves me, she think. I know he must. He must.

Sunlight cracks in through the same eyelids that closed it out. Fight it. Don't let it win! Wake up and you'll be nothing again. A burden.

"I believe in ghosts. I believe in ghosts. I believe in the dead. I believe in the dead."

Her mantra repeat as the clank of dishes from the kitchen below pulls her even further out of her sleep.

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