Underneath the cover's is where
I first found the promise of lie.
As the day began to approach it's second
act of the day, she climbed in
the bed beside me; and as the routine
of time struck a quarter past ten,
I felt her flesh almost touching mine.
This has been a routine of ours, as old
as the act of sunrise and sunset could
be. While we are close, we never get
any closer than what we do here, every night.
The furthest we've been was the day in
which we had first met one another; found
each other in the middle of a ferocious lightening
storm. Each of us would have, to anyone
else, looked obscured and abstract in
the situation we had put ourselves within.
I stood tall on a fence, reaching
up to the heavenly sky's, holding
a metal rod, and I must'a been
screaming like a loon, a raven
who repeated his demands to someone
who was totally deaf or unwilling
to acknowledge my own existence.
Every time a storm blows in town,
this is what I do and not once
before had I before found anyone
outside their home, during
these torrents; let alone
a beautiful angel whom was enjoying
the weather, at least, appreciating
the magnitude of the possible destruction.
Up until quarter to seven,
that day had not been anything
other than similar to every one
in which had came before; and
so then it came as no surprise when
God didn't say to me, well, anything
other than silence; and maybe when
I read to much into it, that within
His choice to allow me to awake one
more morning, is a gift by it's own
rite. Yet, then again, maybe I'm wrong
in thinking that way; because that evening
is when she came to me, she became a being.
As my heart felt like it could not
sink anymore, I began to get
paranoid; fore I believed that
in between the claps of great
thunder, I could hear the grit
of a girlish laughter. But,
I wasn't quite that made yet,
so I began to return to a state
of conscious behaviour; my fate
was to go under surgery and my sight
will be returned to me, right
then and there, when low&behold; I did
see a woman, sitting there, just
quiet, and hunched up so her sight
would lay on nothing but the depths
of her own mind; she didn't
even look up at the sky, just
kept a steady gaze on the dirt.
'Ahoy,' I cried over, as politely
as one ship declares a treaty
to another; and it was, one, two,
three, four, more sets of thunder
before she even uttered a word to me.
'It's quite a sight to see, so pretty,
don't you agree?' At first, I was dizzy
as I tried to verify that those there
words I heard were in fact what she
sung; 'What, is? The rain?' I finally
cried back; but I must have been totally
off cue, because as I tiptoed, softly,
to her, a look of astonishment was there.
Written as plain as the day on a calender.
I was no more than six feet away
and still had no idea what I'd say
once I finally made the last few
feet to her position, to the
spot where she sat, so ghastly,
so perfect. Again then I do say,
'What is? The rain?' Fore
that is all I can think of, so
then, I assume that everybody
else is tuned into the same
zeitgeist; but she was there
to prove me wrong. So give
me a taste of my own benevolence
and ignorance I give to others.
part 2:
And I Have Filled This Void With Things Unreal; And All The While My Character Instills:
"You can't be serious?" Is what she
spout out at me, as fast as if the
words themselves were on fire,
and if they remain on her tongue, they
will burn her right where it is she
does stand; "That question can't be
serious, right?" She asked, slowly,
as if the question itself was not
for me but for her own super ego.
"Well," I began to stutter
and back pedal, "I, you see,"
and then I lost all of my
courage because she began to
laugh in such a manner
that I knew it was over me.
"What exactly," She said boldly,
"Are you doing over there? You know
it's a storm?" I smirk, bashfully
smile and get ready to explain to her
the reasoning behind my attempt to
find an escape portal in the centre
of lightening, then decide to try
and lie. I may be slow but you may
only fool me once or twice before
I learn from the err's of my way,
so instead I explain that, "My
grandmother died last winter, and she
always kept an umbrella with her;
rather rain or shine, 'better to be
prepared,' she'd say to me." I
see the jadedness she used to differ
others from reaching her start to
fade as her natural sympathy
began to take over her pilot controls.
"Continue," she said through pouty
lips. And so then I continued with my
lie, "So then I come here every
time there is a storm, for you see
she loved these storms, and well, I
just wanna give back to her, her
favourite umbrella. The one I gave her
back when I was still in elementary
sch-" before I got carried away,
she interrupted me and said, 'No way.
That's so cute, I feared you were
here doing something weird.' Across my eyes
a flash of curiosity must have been visible
because instantly she began to revert to
the invert she had been before I began to
explain my pseduo-history. "Come on," I pry,
"don't be shy. If I can explain that to thee,
then you can tell me anything." Seconds went bye
and new ones came to replace their predecessor's
before she replied, more shy than before:
"I'm too ashamed to admit it, I'm too bashfully to try."
I say, "It's okay, I'm not your average guy."
"No, you see," I begin to stare at her
with idol curiosity, as if I had already
begun weighting the pros and cons of this reality;
trying to add up if it's a dream or actually
happening to me, "I'm just, so, so unsure if I
can ever truly begin." I just stop her right there,
"Baby girl, you ain't got a thing to fear
with me here. Tell me whatever bothers you,
we'll figure it out from now on, together."
Her light blue eyes peek out from their
previous occupation, of staring at the
ground, and that's when I discover
that she was looking at a map of the
world. "Go on," I say, trying so
hard to encourage her to continue.
"Well, you see, that's it." She said, flatly.
"That's it?" I asked, repeating it with curiosity.
"Ya, it's not a matter of me unable to tell you
what's wrong; but that's the problem I have, the
one I just explained. I can never start, I fear
the end so then I find comfort in drifting through
the days like a stone or shadow. But when I glare
at a map in the rain, I see the world melt away
and all is better." I sit next to her, and take her
hand in mine, clasp it tightly and grow oh so
silent; fear holds me right there, and she finally
squeezes back and says, "don't ever let go."
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