It started with my eyes.
Darting calmly between the soft, pink floor mat and the florescent light above. Half of my face buried drooling in cotton-shag. Lost in whatever stupor I had fallen into.
I had lost the hour, when finally the bloodlines around my irises stopped throbbing in a wave of calm.
Coolness ran across my forehead like the gentle massage of loving fingers expanding through my face.
The touch, long and delicate reached back through my brain. Scratching, soothing down the cracks of my spine, across my shoulders.
Heavenly light. I could feel her. Across the country. I haven't known too many touches like this...
I felt still.
a relaxed feeling
I've hadn't felt in how long? ...
have I ever felt this calm?
how do I describe freedom of sadness?
to be relieved of my knowing?
I looked down at the pink bath mat. As every molecule was cut from its gravity and I was lifted up. Off the floor away from the white tiles. Detached. Forgetting anything that held me to the ground.
My right hand rose away from me, and like I was turning over in air to the ceiling than back to the floor as my legs hit the light fixture. My spine rolled up to meet it until I was lying flat against the ceiling looking down to the body below.
There was music for him. Around me. Music for them. I heard the strum. And hymn of forgetting. The music of the stars.
And felt no fear for him. Always to be the face in the water... knowing what I am, and finally forgiving him... there that was a genuine smile.
to be cont.
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mood: Vivaldi: La Follia