My hand reached inside her marble eyes, aiming for the darkness, for the perfect disarray, and by the Gods it felt like home, as if I could unchain the demons locked in their denizens to join me in a lengthy game of cards, as if this crumbling dystopia was all there is and all that will ever be, willingly, by choice and only by choice.
But I couldn’t linger any longer for she had forced me to see her outside of the realm of thought. Her eyes, they bled droplets of sanguine wine, funeral wine, ever sweet ad ever morose, her lips opened slightly, shyly as if to welcome the swift embrace of salvation, of absolution and her hair was restrained, proud, a warning sign for an invasion that ceased existing.
And there she laid on the cold hard floor, still she was for seconds turned into hours turned into days. Everything moved in all directions yet everything was perfectly still. An incarnation of the saintly lechery, she was, a melody of the sinner’s virtue and of the sheer beauty of the incomprehensible grey area.
Vigorously, she defended her addiction to the void, her uncomfortable comfort zone, against all attempts to carry some of the sins, some of the fiends inside her head. I wished I’d become a helping hand,
I wished I could drink at the funeral,
I wished I’d tamed her hair..
But I was not there…
“I am, simply, never there”