miniverse

library. the song is loud in my head; i feel like tears are waves crashing about my insides; i don’t know why. he asks; strokes me says all is okay. i nod, but i don’t smile.

I am not here in my head, I am not here.
But still, look around you. To think that you’d conjured up the world surrounding you; walking through dimensions; passers-by, that lady trying to sell her magazine by the roadside getting up as you past, that navy blue car slowing down to a red light on your right before heading off again as the lights take the lift to the ground floor.
I am not here in my head, but I have arrived.
❞

I am not here in my head, I am not here.

But still, look around you. To think that you’d conjured up the world surrounding you; walking through dimensions; passers-by, that lady trying to sell her magazine by the roadside getting up as you past, that navy blue car slowing down to a red light on your right before heading off again as the lights take the lift to the ground floor.

I am not here in my head, but I have arrived.

(Source: instagram.com)

Rooftops.
I found him high up there again. He was the sky I’d always knew, but this time it was a different view.
I think of the first time I leaned in to kiss him. I ran my tongue against the bumps of his teeth, all in perfect alignment except for one just the slightest bit off but it was so that you wouldn’t have noticed with your eyes -only my tongue knew. Only I knew. He smiled, partly because now he wasn’t the only one with that bit of trivial knowledge, but also because it was his first touch. 
He was adorable and told me stories of fluffy bunnies as I lay on his arm as a diagonal across his bed. He was the bright blue sky and I was the trailing comet leaving glittering dust over his torso. He was the world, the skyline with the hundred built buildings as his teeth and I stared and stared as I leaned over the balcony, not afraid to fall because after all, it would be his smile that I’ll fall into.
❞

Rooftops.

I found him high up there again. He was the sky I’d always knew, but this time it was a different view.

I think of the first time I leaned in to kiss him. I ran my tongue against the bumps of his teeth, all in perfect alignment except for one just the slightest bit off but it was so that you wouldn’t have noticed with your eyes -only my tongue knew. Only I knew. He smiled, partly because now he wasn’t the only one with that bit of trivial knowledge, but also because it was his first touch. 

He was adorable and told me stories of fluffy bunnies as I lay on his arm as a diagonal across his bed. He was the bright blue sky and I was the trailing comet leaving glittering dust over his torso. He was the world, the skyline with the hundred built buildings as his teeth and I stared and stared as I leaned over the balcony, not afraid to fall because after all, it would be his smile that I’ll fall into.

Now I’m beginning to wonder if it has been you all along.
It seems like all roads lead back to you, all rivers flow down to you. There was once this vast expanse of space and when I squinted my eyes to see as far down as I could, I thought I saw the end. A barrier, lined horizontally to say ‘end’. It is now that I have travelled that I realised it was the bend. 
It was fall, the time of the fallen. Leaves cut off their ties from those rooted trunks and drifted off in hopes of landing. They didn’t like hanging anymore. Somewhere to belong, they whispered to one another, and humans who walked under only heard slight swishings. And that was even if they were listening hard enough.
I found myself in the river. I was prettier, I thought. That sickly green shade had transformed into a more appealing variety of gold and I now had the water beneath me. I discovered that I was good at floating. That travelling liquid beneath me was my friend. It roared softly of all the stories it had gathered and I soon learned them by heart as they washed over me repeatedly.
I never knew if I was halfway down the stream, or if we were approaching the sea. I took the river as home, slightly in awe that I could gaze up at the stars at night and peer beneath the surface ripples to try and get a glimpse of the riverbed below.
A night of gale came and passed. Then out of these thousands of other leaves, how did I find you back next to me?
❞

Now I’m beginning to wonder if it has been you all along.

It seems like all roads lead back to you, all rivers flow down to you. There was once this vast expanse of space and when I squinted my eyes to see as far down as I could, I thought I saw the end. A barrier, lined horizontally to say ‘end’. It is now that I have travelled that I realised it was the bend. 

It was fall, the time of the fallen. Leaves cut off their ties from those rooted trunks and drifted off in hopes of landing. They didn’t like hanging anymore. Somewhere to belong, they whispered to one another, and humans who walked under only heard slight swishings. And that was even if they were listening hard enough.

I found myself in the river. I was prettier, I thought. That sickly green shade had transformed into a more appealing variety of gold and I now had the water beneath me. I discovered that I was good at floating. That travelling liquid beneath me was my friend. It roared softly of all the stories it had gathered and I soon learned them by heart as they washed over me repeatedly.

I never knew if I was halfway down the stream, or if we were approaching the sea. I took the river as home, slightly in awe that I could gaze up at the stars at night and peer beneath the surface ripples to try and get a glimpse of the riverbed below.

A night of gale came and passed. Then out of these thousands of other leaves, how did I find you back next to me?

Maybe she’s got a heart of gold, but (I hate to be the one to break this to you) it’s already sold. 
When did you figure that she wasn’t going to come? Or that he’s the one? (much later, I suppose)
They told you to meet here, didn’t they? Beneath this chandelier. Well, what did your heart say? Because if you didn’t listen, don’t blame them for lying.
❞

Maybe she’s got a heart of gold, but (I hate to be the one to break this to you) it’s already sold. 

When did you figure that she wasn’t going to come? Or that he’s the one? (much later, I suppose)

They told you to meet here, didn’t they? Beneath this chandelier. Well, what did your heart say? Because if you didn’t listen, don’t blame them for lying.

They used to live in the sky.
The clouds were fluffy lands beneath their feet that bounced back into place after each footprint sunk in. It never allowed them to leave dents to mark that they had once walked there. Their blood was the wind. She knew that because its rushes through her veins always lifted her higher. There was this lightness in her that she now tries to remember.
His breath was the sun. Exhale, and she knew warmth. Inhale, and it was love over and over again. He took her in.
One day, he collected the teardrops from grey clouds and stitched their pointy ends to silk strands he pulled from snow clouds. When he was done, he gave them a tug and they started to fly. ‘Balloons,’ he said, and presented them to her. His smile reflected his mother’s rays and tiny dancing rainbows awoke within the droplets.
Tying them onto her wrist, she then pulled him in. Day fell, it was dark too soon, but lips were upon lips and stars were fireworks and fireworks were stars; gold pops and gold pricks in that canvas of infinity; they didn’t really know but it didn’t matter because they were all magnificent the same in that moment.
Her blood rushed, torrents and waves all heated by his light; the clouds separated and a hurricane began spinning up. The world flipped, and they found themselves on land, two feathers on gravel.
Nothing would ever be the same.
❞

They used to live in the sky.

The clouds were fluffy lands beneath their feet that bounced back into place after each footprint sunk in. It never allowed them to leave dents to mark that they had once walked there. Their blood was the wind. She knew that because its rushes through her veins always lifted her higher. There was this lightness in her that she now tries to remember.

His breath was the sun. Exhale, and she knew warmth. Inhale, and it was love over and over again. He took her in.

One day, he collected the teardrops from grey clouds and stitched their pointy ends to silk strands he pulled from snow clouds. When he was done, he gave them a tug and they started to fly. ‘Balloons,’ he said, and presented them to her. His smile reflected his mother’s rays and tiny dancing rainbows awoke within the droplets.

Tying them onto her wrist, she then pulled him in. Day fell, it was dark too soon, but lips were upon lips and stars were fireworks and fireworks were stars; gold pops and gold pricks in that canvas of infinity; they didn’t really know but it didn’t matter because they were all magnificent the same in that moment.

Her blood rushed, torrents and waves all heated by his light; the clouds separated and a hurricane began spinning up. The world flipped, and they found themselves on land, two feathers on gravel.

Nothing would ever be the same.

Tell her all about the lost ships stranded on this sea, and she’ll sing you a melody of those tossing waves that keep pulling her back to him. You say we’re lonely souls caused by solitary needs, and she reminds you of how she falls in love over and over again. The ocean is a pot so deep and yet she thinks she knows its depths for life has caused her heart to venture there. 
She has been lifted up again and again by you. You the ship, have set sail for her and her only and in the middle of this stirring wake you wait. Wait, with your anchor down, for her to find her grip on that and rise from those depths, pricking through the surface of still green-blue and say, ‘Hello, it’s you.’
Because she came to you.
❞

Tell her all about the lost ships stranded on this sea, and she’ll sing you a melody of those tossing waves that keep pulling her back to him. You say we’re lonely souls caused by solitary needs, and she reminds you of how she falls in love over and over again. The ocean is a pot so deep and yet she thinks she knows its depths for life has caused her heart to venture there. 

She has been lifted up again and again by you. You the ship, have set sail for her and her only and in the middle of this stirring wake you wait. Wait, with your anchor down, for her to find her grip on that and rise from those depths, pricking through the surface of still green-blue and say, ‘Hello, it’s you.’

Because she came to you.

Last night, her blood was liquid fire coursing through her veins. Rivers of lava, as the neurones in her mind raged with ardent lust for dreams of the future. A beacon upon her bed, with the room darkened as a sealed box. The toss and turns only made to fan the flames, whose tongues eagerly lapped up the winds it was fed.
Two beds away, the siblings slept. The clock ticked the night patiently away. 
❞

Last night, her blood was liquid fire coursing through her veins. Rivers of lava, as the neurones in her mind raged with ardent lust for dreams of the future. A beacon upon her bed, with the room darkened as a sealed box. The toss and turns only made to fan the flames, whose tongues eagerly lapped up the winds it was fed.

Two beds away, the siblings slept. The clock ticked the night patiently away. 

*writer’s note

My writings are very metaphorical and it is my greatest wish for each of them convey a specific message for growth and/or inspiration.

I am really glad that you read them. x

She remembered when they’d first moved in there:
The place was as bare as a cardboard box, with the exception of its walls which were already then made of water-coloured slanting planks. She found those to be rather pretty and knew that she would be keeping them. However, the rest was rather bare and she was going to fix that.
Fifteen minutes later, he walked in. His soles resembled sandpaper and he left a trail of grain behind him as he headed towards her. She noticed how his softly tanned skin blended in with the woodiness of the place she’d made up her mind to call home. By then, he was close enough to her to bend down and pass a soft peck to her lips. As he lifted his head back up, the place where he’d graze was left tingling. She smiled, both with her lips and her insides.
'Sweet place, isn't it?' she asked while he took in the place. 'I think it's…perfect.' he decided.
Three months, they had been together for three months. Actually, it was longer. But they had only started seeing each other three months ago when they had taken the leap and decided that they didn’t like living so far apart. And now they were getting this beach-side house. She had an idea clear in her mind of how she wanted to make it.
Within two weeks, he had made them a little square dining table with planks of wood they’d bought from a warehouse forty-five minutes away. From a flea market, she got two paintings which she then hung on the wall behind their dining table.
Three days later, while eating with candles in-between and a patchwork table cloth her mother had given, one of them accidentally knocked down the flaming wax stick, setting the cloth ablaze. The thing was, they weren’t sure whose hand it was that had knocked it as both had felt the collision in the moment that the bottle they were passing was in both’s grips. She’d leapt up, knocking over her chair which cluttered to the floor. His eyes widened, but more level-headed, he strode out and returned with a pail of sand which he poured immediately onto the fiery flickering tongues. It landed with a thump upon the wooden surface and issued a waif cloud of acrid smoke. He stood there, pail dangling from his arm, and she with her hand over two-thirds of her face, two wide pools gaping above. It took them a few minutes to get over the shock, before they stepped forward once more to sweep the sand away. But the damage had been done and an ugly black singed patch was now etched on their table.
That night, he wasn’t too sure how to comfort her. In fact, he wasn’t sure if it was comfort she wanted. But of course, she did.
She came up to him under those thin sheets of theirs, and not quite sure of what to say, she said, ‘hey.’ He turned over to her and thought how pretty she looked in that slight light which was all they had.
'Wasn't that scary!' she said, 'but it was our first real adventure.' 
He smiled. Of course she saw it that way.
He reached his hand up to stroke her hair. ‘No, our first real adventure was moving here. And this place will always only be as good as long as you are here.’
❞

She remembered when they’d first moved in there:

The place was as bare as a cardboard box, with the exception of its walls which were already then made of water-coloured slanting planks. She found those to be rather pretty and knew that she would be keeping them. However, the rest was rather bare and she was going to fix that.

Fifteen minutes later, he walked in. His soles resembled sandpaper and he left a trail of grain behind him as he headed towards her. She noticed how his softly tanned skin blended in with the woodiness of the place she’d made up her mind to call home. By then, he was close enough to her to bend down and pass a soft peck to her lips. As he lifted his head back up, the place where he’d graze was left tingling. She smiled, both with her lips and her insides.

'Sweet place, isn't it?' she asked while he took in the place. 'I think it's…perfect.' he decided.

Three months, they had been together for three months. Actually, it was longer. But they had only started seeing each other three months ago when they had taken the leap and decided that they didn’t like living so far apart. And now they were getting this beach-side house. She had an idea clear in her mind of how she wanted to make it.

Within two weeks, he had made them a little square dining table with planks of wood they’d bought from a warehouse forty-five minutes away. From a flea market, she got two paintings which she then hung on the wall behind their dining table.

Three days later, while eating with candles in-between and a patchwork table cloth her mother had given, one of them accidentally knocked down the flaming wax stick, setting the cloth ablaze. The thing was, they weren’t sure whose hand it was that had knocked it as both had felt the collision in the moment that the bottle they were passing was in both’s grips. She’d leapt up, knocking over her chair which cluttered to the floor. His eyes widened, but more level-headed, he strode out and returned with a pail of sand which he poured immediately onto the fiery flickering tongues. It landed with a thump upon the wooden surface and issued a waif cloud of acrid smoke. He stood there, pail dangling from his arm, and she with her hand over two-thirds of her face, two wide pools gaping above. It took them a few minutes to get over the shock, before they stepped forward once more to sweep the sand away. But the damage had been done and an ugly black singed patch was now etched on their table.

That night, he wasn’t too sure how to comfort her. In fact, he wasn’t sure if it was comfort she wanted. But of course, she did.

She came up to him under those thin sheets of theirs, and not quite sure of what to say, she said, ‘hey.’ He turned over to her and thought how pretty she looked in that slight light which was all they had.

'Wasn't that scary!' she said, 'but it was our first real adventure.' 

He smiled. Of course she saw it that way.

He reached his hand up to stroke her hair. ‘No, our first real adventure was moving here. And this place will always only be as good as long as you are here.’

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