COME AWAY WITH ME...

So she thinks... what makes a writer? She cannot feel the normal emotions others feel; she sits staring at screens, her mind a million miles away where another mind tosses and turns and begs for sleep. She wonders why the illusive notion so at ease in others so dis-eases her. It vexes her damn it. It vexes her.

So she tries to be this thing: It gives words and it takes words in and in-between this giving and that taking she aches to be made real, something that one can hold, caress, enfold so that the dreams come and the dreams are sweet blessed relief... freed from the compulsion to chase illusion and the edge - always the precipice - awaiting each minute misstep.

Words build one bridge, collapse another, and in rebuilding more time passes her unlived, unshared - in other but emotions flung up into the air, the wind carrying them ferrying them till one day they will float down un-received; one or the other having perished between thought and some quite unexpected undeniable catastrophe.

Oh if he would. Follow her lead, let golden sand and setting sun frame liquid breaths in glorious imagery - enough to maybe yet sustain another long deluge of torrential loss and missing what one cannot ever hope to hold for long... Yes to touch for that little bit, to claim a single moment of reality - not the insanity of hope she clutches for security as though, as though, hope was a tightrope 'tween digital signals and this pulsing and erratic beat of hers.

Oh but the dreams. The writer sleeps beyond the screen where words unseen clutter the distance and the time with unsung lullabies... "Come away with me... Come away with me..."

Reviews

[Davidgeo]

Words make the writer. It really is that simple if its pure.

[Elise Anton]

Yeah... it's the keeping it pure. It's the pristine words untainted by anything other than their existence... Alas, purity is a scarcity.

[Davidgeo]

It's much worse than that. It doesn't exist... it was made up a long time ago; but not long enough ago to be original. Purity is a fantasy.

[Elise Anton]

One needs something... even a fantasy really.