novel six/gift

July 7th, 2008

You are the high note in a song. The part that gives you chills while the singer stretches their neck and veins explode within them while there is an understanding that the note may kill them but they know if it is not done that they wouldn’t want to go on anyway. I often see your long strands of soul lingering on my pillow, or staining my white sheets. I can see your hand lying on said sheets, and it twitches ever so softly, reminding all those around that life stills exists.
I once sketched you and you told me you wished you looked that majestic. What you aren’t aware of yet is that you are, and that I would bet my soul on that. I imagine myself in a studio, painting your ivory skin, covered in creamy acrylic. I would need a thick violet for your hair. A thick, burning violet that is ever present and stains white canvases. White like your home. It doesn’t need paint, it needs you and your beautiful hair.
I want to place my hand on your neck, and I want to feel the blood flow through your body. I want to restore your emotion in making love, though it probably already is there. I want to take care of you and hold you gently and make you forget anything that may have harmed you. I want to kiss the numb away and stroke away the pain and hold you under water momentarily so that you are reborn in a form fitting your soul. A form made of hand woven silk and feathers from a dove that has always known flight. And while that silk and those feathers were white, I’d take a piece of your hair softly in my hands, and place it upon the silken feather and let the colour seep in until you befitted yourself. I would pick you up and carry you to my bathroom and place you in steaming milky water and hold you close while my face was submerged and I would suck the air from your feathers.
I will place a leaf in your hair and a flower on your mind and a kiss on your lips and call you a Queen. A majestic Queen who would become a well lit tree whose name fails me but would be ingrained in my arm and would only be Cassiopeia. This is a place of wonder and grace, where all things succeed and nothing begins half heartedly. It is a land where fireflies light pathways and flowers dot entrances and lovers release the world from it’s iron bound chains and huge brutal landscapes and a society that doesn’t fit everyone. Cassiopeia is a drifting leaf, you can find it in a snowflake like that children’s tale. Wonderful. I am full of wonder of you, and one day I will love you while entwined in your hair, the hair that holds an entire land in it.