Atoms

I came across a woman that could tell you of your future, yet when it came to hers, she left the pages blank. Whether some were sheets of music, others torn out of their spine and used for spells she didn’t wish to know. There was a quiet calm about the way she wandered. There was sadism and masochism all wrapped up into one unsettled storyline. I found it hard to swallow her at first, as if she was a spoonful of sand and of gravel. Yet each bite I took went down with just the slightest bit of ease over the one before, until eventually she came in sips that met my lips with wonder. She filled my stomach solely at the sight of her, a plethora of beating wings from bees and butterflies, from hummingbirds and albatross. At first I thought that this was something I might trap and capture in a cage, with golden bars but bars all still the same. I’d see the sunset in her gaze. I’d see a winter that would put my soul to rest if I were so careless as to grip her tight. I’ve learned this woman to be something that you follow, not something that you lead with ball and chains that drag around her feet. Yet here I’ve found myself, those same anchors wrapped around my body, thrown out in the ocean of her everlasting warmth. I drown in her and then I wake each morning, cold and callous that I’ve reached the surface. On purpose I decide to reattach the hefty metals, to careen with madness on my heart to see the world clouded by her outlooks on it all. Like colored glasses fumbled with and placed upon my face, these cogs and belts and oil dripping seem disdainful in their own existence. As if upset that they turn perfectly, one after the others, eternally entangled. I find it freeing, if I were to say the very least, I find it subtly serene if I am to be earnest and honest with my words. Her way of living leaves a sense of urgency behind and purged of these quite earthly things I find that I am opened up. Split with axe as if a stump and from that crevice creeps a stem, a stem adorned with more than thorns this time. I am indulged and I am meek, I am empathetic to the squeeze of lemons for the sake of tasting juice. My hands have found themselves surrounded by the soil, my legs uprooted, quite suitable for travel as I traverse from universe to universe. To you, the Milky Way could never be a palpable condition, where to me it is the space between the freckles scattered on her cheeks. I can trace from star to star, I might kiss each planet placed by whoever deemed it fit to make such things.

To be reborn as matter strikes my mind like hammers to the steel. To be set free from failing in my attempts to gain control has aimed me like a weapon at the enemy. The clock itself runs in new directions, an ever stressed and fearful entity. It melts and drips in drops that I can smell. To track, to hunt, to devour in the early hours, the hours themselves, the minutes lose their meaning and all crash like atoms in a fray. To be touched by her is to be broken down into a thousand pieces, pieces you can pick and choose from when you wish to write yourself anew. To be touched by her is to be washed inside the sunlight, starved of everything you think you need and scattered into space. I came across a woman who was no woman after all. I came across a different way to live and in this difference I am predisposed to sin and imperfection, almost as if that is the point that my creator wished to make.