January 22, 2010

Fiction is filled with lovers who wish they were real.

i just want to run away from this place with it's anger and jagged pieces of metal sticking out of the mud.
i want to get far far away, i want to run into the forest, barefoot, the raindrops licking my cheeks, falling asleep in your arms where it's safe. It's safe there.
You'll cover us in leaves, their orange woody autumn smell clinging thick to my hair, us laughing ourselves to sleep. We'll have dreams that we're animals, wild lovers, running hunting panting snarling creatures.

"Let's go to the desert," i'll say.
We'll lie on rocks and absorb the leftover heat into our bones.
i'll tell you what the Joshua trees are whispering in their tiny strange foreign tongues. You'll read the star maps to me, telling me how they're linked.
"We used to be stars" you will whisper in your playful animal-boy voice.

The ocean will call out our names, lap at our feet, give us coral and put seaweed in our hair. You'll pretend like i'm a mermaid, and pick me up with the waves.
"Maybe you even grow a tail," you say.

i'll read you books, you'll write me songs.
We will remember what it's like again to feel that alive.

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