April 4th, 2009
and the words to go with it…
I think that has already happened.
I think I’ve already had my chest torn asunder, the ivory of ribcage effortlessly cracked apart and spread open like a book, ripped this bleeding throbbing pulpy damaged mess from it’s fortress of flesh and bone, and held the slippery fragile thing in my hands, arms slowly stretching out in your direction.
I just hadn’t fully realised.
There are words we don’t particularly use, you and I… and I’m not even sure such words would be appropriate. They sound, to me, so frail and saccharine, these gossamer sentiments that most people exchange. Flimsy nonsense that tastes of nothing but the pink of cotton candy.
But you?
The hues that you resonate within me are not a bucolic and pallid pallete of pastels, no dreamy colors of a serene dawn. Oh, you do make me burst forth in an encyclopedia of color, all colors, true… But for you, towards you, at you, it is… the very deepest red. More blood red than blood. More vibrant than an apocalyptic sunset. It is a color that has the tactile sensation of electricity, the pain-pleasure of a passionate purity all it’s own.
It is as though I’ve torn free of the shackles that bound me, looked no further at the shadows that danced in front of my fixed gaze, was able to escape from Plato’s cave, and could look upon this abstract-concept-emotion in it’s truest form, the thing of perfection, the thing itself. And while most sit happily manacled and muzzled, looking in awe at the substanceless shadow of a facsimile distortedly dancing before them, audaciously claiming it as their own, naming it, sapping away any meaning or vibrance it may have still possessed….. I’ve actually glimpsed the true thing, I’ve touched it, held it in my hand, felt my body ablaze in the agonizing ecstasy it exudes. It filled me with frost-fire.
You’ve done that to me.
No…. No, I hadn’t fully realised. But I had been inching forward. I had been speaking in this direction for some time. I’d used flesh as my language, and had been writing you sonnets with my tongue… narrated novels of worship with my hips…. using my bare skin to grow more and more naked before you.
So why am I explaining all of this to you?
Because it only just came to me. I only just realised the depth and breadth of it all, like suddenly discovering the entire ocean exists. I am putting this to words as best as I can, because you should know, being the object of it. Why now?
Perhaps because, in that recent moment of thought-doom stopped dead in my tracks, those few seconds before brain recalibration, I became for the first time aware that I’d be utterly decimated if you were to share your flesh with another.
Perhaps because, now that I have my time with you so truncated these days, I can feel the empty space around the edges in the places you used to fill, and I can feel how painfully it aches.
Perhaps because I so rarely have the opportunity to express this aspect since I’ve moved; I no longer am in a position to pour my emotions towards you through the sensual-physical as often or freely as I used to, so my lexicon is forced to adapt from flesh to words and fill the gap.
Perhaps because I’d decided, the day before yesterday, that I had to kiss you when next I saw you, somehow, somewhere, whenever you next came by to see me, which seems expressly against our general style of interaction.
I understand that is by no means what you signed on for, and isn’t entirely fair.
But I seem to have already hollowed out my innards. I seem to have already left a box on your doorstep; a box that seeps blood.
I’m really sorry.
…. I didn’t mean to fall.
Rachael
PS.
You are, of course, my best friend, and i’d hope that you would still be willing to remain as such. I would hate if my emotional over-exuberance were to destroy the excellence of our friendship. You are the best person I’ve ever known, and will continue to be so.
I would ask you, as my friend… desperately beg you….
that if this present of mine is not something you’ve the mind to care for, if you are not interested in being the caretaker of my canoptic jar of passion-rapture-self, if you’ve no desire to be part of this offering, please please please keep yourself at a chaste distance from me. I doubt myself able, at this point, to share my body with yours without showering you with amorous adulations through every single touch. I’d ask that you spare me such embarrassment and torture. I will want to, oh GOD will I want to… but it would only make things terrible for both of us.
Please let me know.
Otherwise, if I can gather up the nerve, I might try to kiss you. While not at bedtime or even wearing my pajamas.
Daring, I know….