Today, I just want to lay my head in your lap. Let go of myself. Free my mind from the relentless tide of adulthood. Of consequence and the burden of independence. Feel your hands in my hair as the sun makes patterns on the wall. The touch of your fingers on the curve of my cheek. Like navigators. Tracing the invisible tracks of ancient tears. I want to let go of decisions. And consciousness. Sink into the circle of you. Just listen to the sound of your voice. The low rumble of it, the words unimportant. The timbre of your laugh. I want to ask you questions you don’t have answers for. I want to know what you know. In the gaps between your heart beat. In the sigh I can’t hear and the flicker behind your eyes. In the space between what you are and what you might be. I want to take a fearless, naïve, innocent step. I want to let go. Be ignorant of what repercussions there might be, to let you touch me like this. With the slow intimacy of a Sunday afternoon. With the careless caress of casual lovers. I want to be free of the future. Where every action has a terrible price. Where decisions must be taken with the full weight of what they mean. What they will mean. What they might mean. Where I will retreat back into myself. Where I will be conscious again. Too aware. Too fierce in my will to be just me. Not we. And as the shadows of trees mark my passage home, and the moment is lost, I wonder why that is. What combination of the stars has made this an irreconcilable point in time? And I wonder if it will change. If I will ever be fearless again. Brave and bright and free in an afternoon of sunlight.
Wow. You have a way of capturing a moment and making it sparkle.
@ Kyk > it was a good afternoon. Sad. But good.
Obviously more than just a pretty… pair of… um, face. Pretty face.
(Seriously, beautifully done, dear.)
@ Mrs B > Why, Mrs B, if I didn’t know better, I’d wonder if you hadn’t just slipped some hemlock in my tea.
(Ta. *bow*. Now if I could just master the subtleties of the fine Benitez wit, I’d be a full package.
)
Wit is pretty much irrelevant here. “Sparkle” is a good word to use.
@ Martin > nah. Wit, when weilded well (alliteration. YAY.) is always relevant. But then again, I always want what I don’t have. But thank you.
oh my. you have captured the reason i put on my trainers and run from the ones i really like. cover story remains “i’m trying to collect the entire set”, but in fact only the ones that can’t really touch me… being untethered for just a few hours? rolling in it? letting go?
brave, lady. very, very brave…
@ Daisyfae > No. Sadly not brave. Just wistful and wishful musings.
well then maybe we both need to purchase some nice ‘big girl panties’ and see if we can conjure some of that bravery one of these days?
it is a beautiful piece of writing…
@ Daisyfae > you know what? I suspect you’re absofukkenlootly right. And since, as you know, I only have big girl panties, in non-matching sets, I’m half way there, right?
somehow, i think the mismatched sets work quite well on you… i’m buying more leather…
@ Daisyfae > leather knickers? *snort* *splutter*…what would those paramedics my mother is always so worried about think!
Popped in via Nurse Myra’s…have been reading your blog…WoW!….what great stuff…this one especially touched me. Beautiful.
@ Olga > Ta very much for the comment – and for popping in! I am fond of bra’s. And travel. So you are most, most welcome.