Free Entry 1, Week 6

Crazy: the word carries a new weight, sinking like a stone in a pond; it no longer tastes of citrus nor cinnamon, but now melts on my tongue in a mimicry of acid, distinctly indescribable, something between a drop of gold, liquid ice, and the bitter, numbing taste of cotton dipped in alcohol. There's no way to put any of it in your head, though your dying obsession speaks out otherwise. I whisper to the oblivion, "I am alive, and I am in love. You are alive, and you are in love." I worry nothing for dreams, and reality floats in my eyes like a seeding dandelion; yet I can't get over the fact that I've been your delusion all along. How did I throw you against the cracked siding of a house, beating your arms to bleed? And now I ask you: Where am I? A warm room filled with paisley and fruit, air fresheners and paint? I think today I spoke in a play, in slow motion, and it took me months to wake up. But I can't seem to remember ever waking up-- what is the feeling?-- I walk through my dreams as if I am alive, because I am, and someday you will be too. We'll move like newspaper in the city, or like the brown bat I watched dying on the sidewalk, exhausted, in love with the sidewalk, spreading wings over concrete, unable to walk. My fingers may have slipped at this time, as they may have slipped through your hair for the last time; my thighs on your side for the last time, my lips caressed your skin, my dear friend, I'm afraid, for the last time. Your voice would follow me if only I could recall it. And now my stomach revolves around empty nerves, something like apathy, something like sneaking out for the first time at age thirteen and getting caught-- that knot of guilt that speaks clearer than my messiah. The dull feeling of blood in my head now reminds me that tomorrow is Tuesday, and time won't stop, not even for you, lover, a diamond or a breath of air, my heart or the reflection of my face in your eyes, or waking up naked on a Sunday morning wrapped in limbs, blankets, and light. I am never the same, and yet...it is beautiful outside.