to make sense of undoing, a daybed shared with lover, how hard is it to be real? the nonsense of this section of prose
|3 min. read|
Twisting and curling into one another, sleep whisked us away before we realized it was waiting. Swollen face of tears, tears for no reason, reason a thing I feel is easy to lack, lack a common thing to feel, feel is where I guess the tears came from. Undone in front of him, the human that I am. Who is allowed to see such a thing? If not for being by his side the next day, my mind would have snuck out, to the filth of overthinking, was I too much, is this too much? My performance of natalie not received well, not receiving applause, the encore not wanted. But deep deep down I could fight the urge to wander there. And so with nothing in my head but the ringing in my ears I sat there together with myself present tense, and with him, calm, slow breaths.
Would you want to read other’s minds? A breach of security, spill out your head and I’ll find your spirit. The private conscience of a mind, the images we collect, the questions we think, the way we are in conversation with the self. Do we like it, existing behind two eyes, existing between two ears, carving space with our tongue, punctuating with our teeth, do we like existing in this way. For we are not a being without the world we hold in our head. Two arms attached to the torso of my mind, hair that hangs from my ideas, studded earrings pierced into my personal monologue of which exists in my head, connected to extremities that makes me a physical being. So what matters the most? Do we inhabit our mind or does our mind inhabit us?
And so my arms are connected to my soul and they wrap around his shoulders in hopes that it explains what I’m thinking. As I hope the same with my words that take form in my mouth, connected to my thoughts that rears. So we lay, the bed that makes us one of the same. Under the covers, over the covers, one pillow, two pillows. A blanket held up by thumbtacks that lessened the brightness that was too much to bear in the morning. Lights off then on, a lamp on the bedside table, halfway there but not quite. The stale air making the back of my neck damp, dampness I cannot wriggle away from. But we lay and we close our eyes and we lay and we speak, filling the air with the minds we are trying to connect to, as if you can see the words leave his mouth, take shape in the air and vanish the same instant. Surrounded by what has been said, heavy hung our minds. Billboards of our thoughts. And we like them all so we stay put. Tossing and turning, but we’re not frustrated, just finding movement.
The cicadas started their song at 7 and they were still in dialogue by 5. The world we created, just him and I that sat atop our daybed, held together by time, a luxury we had for just this day. A face unwashed, hair laid flat, and a person undone does not a person make, but to have been made real by the one who has seen such a thing. A witness to a person as a whole, to be within moments of verity. Utopia created between him and me, our choices and our actions made comfortable. For an outside eye we spent the day laying, but there was no world outside that room. A sweet still escape of nothingness.
to making nonsense,
natalie <3
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