💾 Archived View for clemat.is › saccophore › library › ezines › textfiles › ezines › ANADA › anada24… captured on 2021-12-03 at 14:04:38.
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anada "Kiss" #
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The rain was an ages-old hatred, grudge of the clouds unleashed upon
the helpless earth. I was in his arms when the lightning camera-flashed and
the thunder roared up my spine like a harsh imperative. I clung to him
harder until he looked at me, and I lost myself in the endless twists and
turns of his eyes, rich dark coffee, sweetest soil pleading for cultivation.
My cynicism shattered like spun glass, quickly and painlessly, into shards
that could never be pieced back together.
As the lightning sang and the thunder throbbed, as the rain weighed
down upon the world, I kissed him for the first time. Pasts were
extinguished and futures were lit, prayers on an altar. No dream was ever
so sweet and perfect as this everlasting instant. This was the meaning of
life, the purpose of time and space, the end for which the teeming mass of
starfire and planetblood dumbly sought as the earth emerged from chaos with
bated breath.
For this I would drop my weaving and stare through the window at my
shining doom, soon to float on a transient river of beautiful sorrow. For
this I would give up my sanity and drown within the heady scent of flowers.
For this I would find my way to the seventh circle of Hell, to stretch my
gnarled and sighing limbs to the flaming sky until the end of eternity.
I could craft a word for this moment, this only moment, but why? Why
try to snare a sunrise in a shoebox? Because as painfully limiting as they
are, words are the varnish for a silversweet memory. I will know this
feeling until I pass beyond myself, but words are the photographs that bring
the past into focus. Words are the release for emotions that would
otherwise shake me into pieces of earthquake-small rubble. Words are a
desperate attempt to share my feelings with others, that they might
experience some fragment of my life and be more complete for it.
This particular piece of myself is so precious that I shudder to
think of how I am polluting it with my callous hands, exposing it to the
elements. And yet if I did not try to hold it, to caress it with sensitive
fingertips, I would not appreciate it as much as I do. It is a long-buried
treasure unearthed in Pompeii, a marvel that one must see, smell, touch to
be able to fully understand and adore. And oh, I adore it. With every tiny
particle of my existence I adore it.
I hope that someday you will find something so precious as this. I
hope you will think of me, and remember, and understand.
And smile.
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anada241 by X-tabai (c) 2000
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