September 20, 2013

True Northwest

There were no shortcuts to take when it came to this. The straightest path led me to the quickest ends. Who knew I belonged there right then? I stalled your engines. I emptied the ashtray.

Your heart peaked over the horizon of your tongue. Every time you opened your mouth to speak, a vision of pulp. The things you felt were too decadent for my own plain-hearted affections. I held it high above the waters.
One time you told me you would die without me. You will die whether you are with me or without me.

The fear is that it's a trick of the light. You saw yourself once in a field, and then you cannot remember where the field is. The fear is that you never will again. Fear is its own belief system, better than the religion you neglected with absent diligence. I love you as much as I fear you. It's more than I can say for most.

I found you once in my bedroom, making my bed as you lamented the ashes you felt my heart was soon becoming. I found you that time at the beach when I thought that you left me alone on the shore-- a speck on a boardwalk, shading yourself from my breezy sentiments (or maybe you found me that time). I found you bereft when I found the things I wasn't supposed to. When I thought you had found somebody else. Dark and warm, everything I knew became a house of mirrors. My own nothingness stared back at me tenfold. I waded in your tenacity, the determined earnestness of your losing hand against my empty pockets. You knew something I didn't, but you don't know that yet. But you felt something there, didn't you?

It stirred into existence by sheer inertia. I peered over the lip of it and I felt your magnetic field. It was there all along, the person you were beneath an iron curtain of fearful good will and shattered grasping love. It had turned polar from mine until I found myself pulled into you, suddenly remembering myself deja vu in a dream in a field.

In cloud canopies, I filled your ghostly imprint with my own. You could've been vapor and I'd still find you. And still, you drew the needle towards you. It always points back to you.

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