As I push through these halls of ancient bones of beasts, Im taken away to eons past in a cellular memory. Mammoths crush would be hunters, and as we press further, giant squawking lizards. I am able to see these scenes clearly, in my head, my imagination running away with me as I guide these beguiled children through scenes strung up over head. And In a flash I see a silhouette in front of me, in a figure that I know is yours, and I stop, suddenly, back to the world I hand. She is in a dress, I know is yours, in a beige knit sweater atop her shoulders, that I have felt with the tips of my fingers so many times before. And I feel that excitement, gather at the base of my spine, and work its way up to sand the hair on my neck, and work its way out from my shoulders, in to my arms and hands. Reason fights back, I know, this is not you. That is your hair, yout figure, dropped in that dress, your dress, and I know, thats your hair she pulls out of the clip, to drop about her shoulders. These few seconds turn to minutes, as the entire world stops around me, the dull roar of the museum becomes silence. I know that is not you, if she would just turn around so I am not lost in this fantasy that is you, ahead of me. This fantasy that ties my stomach to knots, that tries to pull my heart to my throat like a balloon tugging at the ground trying to escape the confines of gravity. I know that its you, in these seconds, that turn to excruciating minutes begging, this stranger, to turn around, to snap me back to the moment where I was before. And as she turns, I see this strangers face and you disappear back to where you were, back to just residing in my heart. An anticlimatic, cliche, end, to a million memories that were painted ahead of me, a jackson pollock of the soul spit across wondering eyes. Not long enough for this canvas to dry but long enough to feel you in my marrow.
Posted on: Wed, 30 Jul 2014 09:56:48 +0000
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