a re-edit of a previous blog:
Sleep. You are obtaining that gentle thing. There is soft music emanating from my laptop. I am sitting up in bed, contently warm above the covers. I am here with you sleeping at my side, legs angled to cover the bed below my feet. I look past my computer to your face. The occasional twitch, to accompany the gentle ticking of my keys causes a placid twitch at my own lips. The rhythmic dance of my fingers is a jovial moment in which I enjoy for the act is painless, with another so close, so unaware I believe that if I were to have a twinge in my wrists from the labor I might just have the capacity to work beyond it.
Such a wonderful friend, I am glad you feel enough comfort to lay so close and sleep in time to the thoughts in my imagination. Something worth writing is flowing through the room. I am glad to be part of this still and simple moment of life. As you inhale and exhale the tides of breath go so slow. I wonder the dreams, the thoughts the flashes of color you experience as you sleep near to me, dear to me. I am non expectant of being a part of the actualities that you experience in the lands of dreams. What is it you dream? It is something of terror or of joy? It is something of peace, or nothing at all? Do you think in color or grey’s? I need to be careful, my mind might run away again. I think I might have called that too late, I am seeing images pass now. What could you dream?
Is there such a thing as the side of life and the side of death? What if one could cross it? Could that make a dream? It would start with you. Always you, that is how dreams begin. You are in a place that you know well, work, school, possibly church. You stand in the middle of a room, and things begin to happen fast, it starts like a normal day:
Going through things that you would normally do, and believing anything that occurs because it is not a typical reality, you go about your day and when whoever is most precious to you is taken, it seems like it is supposed to happen though it is a horrid circumstance. Because of the awkwardness, and the need for this individual to be returned to the realm that mean the most to them you travel to an old rusted out and weatherworn barn and enter within to call upon the hag that lives there within. Being you, you are not taken aback by her countenance or nauseating habits and you gently ask her how to enter in the realm that this significant other has been taken. The nauseating smell, the grotesque details of the dead corpses and the thick mist that creeps through the dark are so vivid that it is amazing the brain can tell the difference between dreaming and waken states, or that it forgets such details upon awakening. Gaining your instruction you depart, remembering each and every detail of the trip as you would if it were the caress of your first love.
Entering into a maze you find your way to the gate of death by quickly dodging tyrants and fiends with your talents at stealth. Entering in you come across s decent witch in charge of receiving payment for the entrance and exit of the portal. Individuals are placed on a platform that weighs whither they will want to stay or if they will want to leave the place after their trip. On the scale it is deemed that he would want to stay, so the witch takes from him and places the payment in a cage so that the desire to return to life is balanced out and becomes stronger. Looking around, people will want to gain back hearts, (yes the actual things, beating and all) or colors or emotions. To cross the boarder something must be lost to be gained. Noone is ever the same after acrossing, though the actualities are different. Going off to rescue the significant other in the perils of the realm of the dead time is the sacrifice.
WAIT!
That is starting to not sound like his personality, and more like what I would do, come to think of it I think that might have been one of my dreams. I pause in typing to reminisce on the fact that it was and his face catches my attention again. His brow furls at the silence in my keys and another possibility enters my head:
Taking into consideration the awkward sound of my music because it is background themes to anime’s or videogames and the frantic clickty-clasck of my keys and occasional whirr of the fan on my computer, I have decided that you might be in a giant sand storm, the clicking resembles the gear of your men and the whirr of the laptop keeping me warm is the bustling winds, for all I know your face is in a position to get the occasional burst of warm air it puts off. The music might add to the mood of the air and whither there is an enemy or a friend to be picked up and carried along. The stopping of my typing might have resembled a frantic pause in which hopes for the enemies passing were filling the soul.
I find myself shrugging and thinking many another scenario but glancing at the clock I realize just how late it is and that everyone is no longer awake. I sense the inappropriateness of the situation, watching your delicate face sleep so calmly next to me alone in my bedroom. However, having the opportunity to ponder on it is one of peace. Peace is such a moment that comes rarely enough that it causes me a tear in each of my eyes at the genuine harmony and ease within this moment in time. I feel the tears caress my cheek as I wish you had the desire to do as I save this entry, and un wishing to disturb you think of how I slip away into the night, turning the covers down and around you after closing my computer and press my hand fondly on your arm. I will say a prayer for comfort for sleep for you lately has been hard to enjoy. Knowing how I will gather some spare blankets from my room as silently as possible I think on how I will turn out the light and slip upstairs to the living room, the couch waiting to take me in its arms. Beginning the process a smile accompanies the gentle swell of tears as I Hope for your simple pleasantries.
