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TorrMercury's Various Writings
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torrmercury
Necromancer
- Location
- Chicago
- Pronouns
- He/Him
Winter
Knock, knock…
The door opens abruptly, and her bloodshot eyes look out at him. She moves forward, her hand coming up to slap him, but in a fluid motion he catches her wrist, and takes the other one, firmly but gently. He brings her close to his body and lets go of her wrists to embrace her shaking frame, kissing her head and stroking her hair. Her fists beat gently on his chest while tears fall freely from her eyes, sobs wracking her body as he continues to provide what comfort he could. As much as it pains him to admit it, this is his fault.
As she starts to calm down and relax in his arms, he loosens his embrace and she softly whines at the loss of warmth. He pulls her close again and whispers into her ear, "Come take a walk with me. Dress warmly, I'll be waiting at the fountain." He slowly lets go of her, his eyes lingering on her's, and turns away. She stares after him, eyes puffy and red, the words I love you dying in her throat as he walks down the hall of her apartment towards the stairs. Her eyes keep pace with him as he left, even as she gradually turns away. She sighs and notices the slight weight in her sweater pocket. Wrapping her hand around the pendant he just gave her, she walks back inside to bundle up.
~~~~
She arrives at the park at nearly two am. The city hums around her as she walks into the park, moving towards the fountain in its center. As she walks, her mind conjures memories of a better time, the walks they took late at night, the days spent by this fountain enjoying the sunshine and each other's company. There were flashes of guitars, street dancers, kisses and laughter; there were also dogs, so many in fact that now that she is thinking about it, the dogs were what brought them together last spring.
She jerks out of her thoughts as she nearly slips on the ice beneath her feet. Looking around she realizes that it is winter now, and snowing lightly. There is no wind, and the only thing to be heard is the occasional car or cab passing by on the street some ways behind her. Step by step, she treads the light snow cover, towards the beautiful fount that is covered with a light layer of snow. She spots him standing at the edge of the fountain.
He is leaving, that much she knows. If he would come back, she doesn't. But she knows that she has to let him go, there was no other way around this. She takes a tentative step toward him as he turned and sees her. He smiled that stupid bittersweet smile of his and she makes a face. He laughs and motions for her to join him. She complies.
~~~~
They sat at the edge of the fountain for what seemed like an eternity, just talking about anything that came to mind, basking in each other's company. They shared hearty laughs, mournful tears, and golden silence that night. The winter was set in, but it wasn't cold, not for them. For them, it was the last warmth of the next however long it was to be, and as the grey light of the pre-dawn started to flitter across the clouded sky, they shook off the snow that had gathered on them and walked back to her apartment.
All the while, the snow kept falling, little flakes of frozen water crystals, floating down from the heavens and collecting on that fountain, on that night so long ago.
Knock, knock…
The door opens abruptly, and her bloodshot eyes look out at him. She moves forward, her hand coming up to slap him, but in a fluid motion he catches her wrist, and takes the other one, firmly but gently. He brings her close to his body and lets go of her wrists to embrace her shaking frame, kissing her head and stroking her hair. Her fists beat gently on his chest while tears fall freely from her eyes, sobs wracking her body as he continues to provide what comfort he could. As much as it pains him to admit it, this is his fault.
As she starts to calm down and relax in his arms, he loosens his embrace and she softly whines at the loss of warmth. He pulls her close again and whispers into her ear, "Come take a walk with me. Dress warmly, I'll be waiting at the fountain." He slowly lets go of her, his eyes lingering on her's, and turns away. She stares after him, eyes puffy and red, the words I love you dying in her throat as he walks down the hall of her apartment towards the stairs. Her eyes keep pace with him as he left, even as she gradually turns away. She sighs and notices the slight weight in her sweater pocket. Wrapping her hand around the pendant he just gave her, she walks back inside to bundle up.
~~~~
She arrives at the park at nearly two am. The city hums around her as she walks into the park, moving towards the fountain in its center. As she walks, her mind conjures memories of a better time, the walks they took late at night, the days spent by this fountain enjoying the sunshine and each other's company. There were flashes of guitars, street dancers, kisses and laughter; there were also dogs, so many in fact that now that she is thinking about it, the dogs were what brought them together last spring.
She jerks out of her thoughts as she nearly slips on the ice beneath her feet. Looking around she realizes that it is winter now, and snowing lightly. There is no wind, and the only thing to be heard is the occasional car or cab passing by on the street some ways behind her. Step by step, she treads the light snow cover, towards the beautiful fount that is covered with a light layer of snow. She spots him standing at the edge of the fountain.
He is leaving, that much she knows. If he would come back, she doesn't. But she knows that she has to let him go, there was no other way around this. She takes a tentative step toward him as he turned and sees her. He smiled that stupid bittersweet smile of his and she makes a face. He laughs and motions for her to join him. She complies.
~~~~
They sat at the edge of the fountain for what seemed like an eternity, just talking about anything that came to mind, basking in each other's company. They shared hearty laughs, mournful tears, and golden silence that night. The winter was set in, but it wasn't cold, not for them. For them, it was the last warmth of the next however long it was to be, and as the grey light of the pre-dawn started to flitter across the clouded sky, they shook off the snow that had gathered on them and walked back to her apartment.
All the while, the snow kept falling, little flakes of frozen water crystals, floating down from the heavens and collecting on that fountain, on that night so long ago.
torrmercury
Necromancer
- Location
- Chicago
- Pronouns
- He/Him
When We First Met,
…we were on a ship escaping the famine. The ship was called The Wolfhound, a massive triple masted ship that would carry us to our new home. You and your little brother were struggling with the single massive bag that you had, without a family; I could tell that you were newly orphaned. You were beautiful with your dark red hair flowing in the wind, your face flecked with freckles, and your bright emerald eyes, filled with a determined glint, steel beneath the cotton dress. Your brother was younger, hadn't hit his growth spurt yet, but he had the same fire in his eyes that I eventually came to know, and his bright red hair was like a flame, radiating with heat, matching his spitfire attitude. Though I didn't know it then, fate had its hand held out to me: what was meant to be was meant to be. I couldn't help but to take it. I approached, "Hey, you two need some help?"
The next we first met, I was a messenger delivering news of the approaching army. I just finished the 3 day ride from the coast, switching two horses along the way, fatigue creeping its way into my battered body. It took every ounce of willpower for me to climb off the exhausted mare and climb up those steps to the camp where the General was stationed. My muscles burned and ached, and my wind burned lips were cracked and bled, but I took step after step, and after what felt like an hour, though in reality was only a minute, I reached the General's tent, and I gave him the letter. I saluted after he thanked me, and after I left, I promptly collapsed. When I awoke, my first thought was that an angel came down to greet me, bright and of sunny disposition, contrasting with the army men gathered around, rambunctious and rowdy, but you were serene. My hand came up to touch your face, and once again, fate gave me her hand, and once again I took it.
I remember vast plains and a little house on the prairie. I was on a horse, and once more delivering a message, though this one was unfortunate in what it said. Fate said no this time, but that's alright; I was a boy and you, a woman. I knocked on the white door, and when you answered, my voice caught in my throat. You knew immediately and started to whisper, "I knew it, I told him not to go." All I managed to croak out was, "I'm sorry…"
My memory jumps to a graveyard, and a casket being lowered into the ground. Your father was a dear friend of mine, but I hadn't seen him in six years since you and your sister were young then. After the casket was buried, after the procession and mourners left, the three of us stood by his grave, the three most important people in his life, but I was bitter. He had asked me to take you in but I was angry. Angry that fate took another one away from me, angry that I had to take in two girls that I never met, angry that he, my brother in all but blood, abandoned me. When would it stop? When would I finally get to keep what I keep losing? When I heard your sobbing though, I realized something. I put a hand on your shoulder and one on your sister's. The two of you broke down and I knelt to comfort you both. Family. That's right. I never lost it; I still had family, and you two are not strangers that I had never met. You were bound to me not by blood, but by the next closest thing. You were my brother's children, and I did my damnedest to raise you right.
Another image comes unbidden, of you watching me from the window of a carriage. We first met that time when your carriage broke down in front of my father's shop. Luckily, we are carpenters, and fixed it up in a jiffy, but as our fathers talked while mine worked, I met you. You were the daughter of a merchant, a little lady, but your eyes told me different. Your mismatched eyes, one hazel and the other blue, they blazed with intelligence and will, and I knew that you would be more than just a merchant's wife one day. Before you left though, a man burst through the street, crazed and delirious, and holding a gun, and before anything could be done, he shot my father and assaulted yours. I pushed the man off your father and held him down, though I was young and smaller, he was crazed and thrashed about randomly. A few men quickly rushed over from their shops from across the street and took the crazed man away from me and one went to find the mayor. Another man announced that my father was dead. I was in shock, but when I knelt and cried, you took my hand and gave me a brief kiss, the first of many that would come in the coming years. Fate may be fickle, but never let it be said that she is cruel.
I am bombarded with orders. In this life, the first and only time we met was when we first arrived in this forsaken place. Numbers had just been tattooed on our arms, and they started to separate the women from men. You started yelling about your little brother when I got to the separation area. The guards were not listening and were about to get violent when I stepped in and put my hand on your shoulder. You whirled around to yell, but I stopped you, looked you in the eyes and told you, "I'll take care of him." You looked back at me in shock before taking my hands in your and squeezing them. You smiled and thanked me before pointing out your brother. Then you left, walking down the corridor, and I didn't see you again in this life.
The next thing I know, we are at a concert, and we first met through our enthusiasm over the band playing. I was dancing when I almost knocked you over but you laughed it off and pressed into me, drunk. I smile ruefully and ask if you wanted to dance. The night bled away in a blur of color, sound, and touch.
When we first met, we were children playing in a mansion. It belonged to our grandfather, and our parents brought us over to play. We were cousins and were both the same age, though we lived far from each other. We ran all around the estate, visiting the kitchens to steal some food, going up to the attic to rummage through Grandpa's dusty books and other belongings, playing by the cliff face in the back that drops down to the ocean just to smell the sea breeze, poking around the old fire pit that our parents told us stories about, and lastly visiting our grandmother's grave. There was an old willow tree on the east side of the estate that our grandmother loved, and would play under as a child, and when she died, she wanted to be buried under it, and in her will, left her wedding ring to whoever can find it in the hollow of the willow tree. Our grandfather and our parents have all searched for it but never found it, but we decided to give it a try anyways. I poked around the lower branches while you searched the trunk and base. Eventually you discovered a small but strange knot on the tree that jutted out at a strange angle. You realized that it moved and asked me to help you pry it out, and when it did, we found the hollow that our grandmother wrote about. Inside was a small leather box, old and worn, but when we opened it, sitting on velvet as new as the day it was made, was a golden ring. You reverently picked it up and looking on its inside, there was an inscription that read, "No matter the lives that I have or will live, I will love the same man, the same soul, from now onto forever."
I don't know how many lives we've lived since or if we've even lived at all. I don't know if we have been happy without each other or have had something missing in our souls, but what I do know is that this time we are first meeting at a park right on the water, the skyline of the city is the backdrop of our meeting place, a little cafe sitting nearby. I am taking a walk to clear my head, my last relationship ended badly, when I bump into you, and with a jolt, all of the memories come rushing back to me. "Sorry," I say. And you say, "It's alright. Are you ok?" And one more time, though I don't know if it really can be, fate has its hand held out to me: what is meant to be is meant to be. I say, "No, but I am now." And you say, "Me too."
…we were on a ship escaping the famine. The ship was called The Wolfhound, a massive triple masted ship that would carry us to our new home. You and your little brother were struggling with the single massive bag that you had, without a family; I could tell that you were newly orphaned. You were beautiful with your dark red hair flowing in the wind, your face flecked with freckles, and your bright emerald eyes, filled with a determined glint, steel beneath the cotton dress. Your brother was younger, hadn't hit his growth spurt yet, but he had the same fire in his eyes that I eventually came to know, and his bright red hair was like a flame, radiating with heat, matching his spitfire attitude. Though I didn't know it then, fate had its hand held out to me: what was meant to be was meant to be. I couldn't help but to take it. I approached, "Hey, you two need some help?"
The next we first met, I was a messenger delivering news of the approaching army. I just finished the 3 day ride from the coast, switching two horses along the way, fatigue creeping its way into my battered body. It took every ounce of willpower for me to climb off the exhausted mare and climb up those steps to the camp where the General was stationed. My muscles burned and ached, and my wind burned lips were cracked and bled, but I took step after step, and after what felt like an hour, though in reality was only a minute, I reached the General's tent, and I gave him the letter. I saluted after he thanked me, and after I left, I promptly collapsed. When I awoke, my first thought was that an angel came down to greet me, bright and of sunny disposition, contrasting with the army men gathered around, rambunctious and rowdy, but you were serene. My hand came up to touch your face, and once again, fate gave me her hand, and once again I took it.
I remember vast plains and a little house on the prairie. I was on a horse, and once more delivering a message, though this one was unfortunate in what it said. Fate said no this time, but that's alright; I was a boy and you, a woman. I knocked on the white door, and when you answered, my voice caught in my throat. You knew immediately and started to whisper, "I knew it, I told him not to go." All I managed to croak out was, "I'm sorry…"
My memory jumps to a graveyard, and a casket being lowered into the ground. Your father was a dear friend of mine, but I hadn't seen him in six years since you and your sister were young then. After the casket was buried, after the procession and mourners left, the three of us stood by his grave, the three most important people in his life, but I was bitter. He had asked me to take you in but I was angry. Angry that fate took another one away from me, angry that I had to take in two girls that I never met, angry that he, my brother in all but blood, abandoned me. When would it stop? When would I finally get to keep what I keep losing? When I heard your sobbing though, I realized something. I put a hand on your shoulder and one on your sister's. The two of you broke down and I knelt to comfort you both. Family. That's right. I never lost it; I still had family, and you two are not strangers that I had never met. You were bound to me not by blood, but by the next closest thing. You were my brother's children, and I did my damnedest to raise you right.
Another image comes unbidden, of you watching me from the window of a carriage. We first met that time when your carriage broke down in front of my father's shop. Luckily, we are carpenters, and fixed it up in a jiffy, but as our fathers talked while mine worked, I met you. You were the daughter of a merchant, a little lady, but your eyes told me different. Your mismatched eyes, one hazel and the other blue, they blazed with intelligence and will, and I knew that you would be more than just a merchant's wife one day. Before you left though, a man burst through the street, crazed and delirious, and holding a gun, and before anything could be done, he shot my father and assaulted yours. I pushed the man off your father and held him down, though I was young and smaller, he was crazed and thrashed about randomly. A few men quickly rushed over from their shops from across the street and took the crazed man away from me and one went to find the mayor. Another man announced that my father was dead. I was in shock, but when I knelt and cried, you took my hand and gave me a brief kiss, the first of many that would come in the coming years. Fate may be fickle, but never let it be said that she is cruel.
I am bombarded with orders. In this life, the first and only time we met was when we first arrived in this forsaken place. Numbers had just been tattooed on our arms, and they started to separate the women from men. You started yelling about your little brother when I got to the separation area. The guards were not listening and were about to get violent when I stepped in and put my hand on your shoulder. You whirled around to yell, but I stopped you, looked you in the eyes and told you, "I'll take care of him." You looked back at me in shock before taking my hands in your and squeezing them. You smiled and thanked me before pointing out your brother. Then you left, walking down the corridor, and I didn't see you again in this life.
The next thing I know, we are at a concert, and we first met through our enthusiasm over the band playing. I was dancing when I almost knocked you over but you laughed it off and pressed into me, drunk. I smile ruefully and ask if you wanted to dance. The night bled away in a blur of color, sound, and touch.
When we first met, we were children playing in a mansion. It belonged to our grandfather, and our parents brought us over to play. We were cousins and were both the same age, though we lived far from each other. We ran all around the estate, visiting the kitchens to steal some food, going up to the attic to rummage through Grandpa's dusty books and other belongings, playing by the cliff face in the back that drops down to the ocean just to smell the sea breeze, poking around the old fire pit that our parents told us stories about, and lastly visiting our grandmother's grave. There was an old willow tree on the east side of the estate that our grandmother loved, and would play under as a child, and when she died, she wanted to be buried under it, and in her will, left her wedding ring to whoever can find it in the hollow of the willow tree. Our grandfather and our parents have all searched for it but never found it, but we decided to give it a try anyways. I poked around the lower branches while you searched the trunk and base. Eventually you discovered a small but strange knot on the tree that jutted out at a strange angle. You realized that it moved and asked me to help you pry it out, and when it did, we found the hollow that our grandmother wrote about. Inside was a small leather box, old and worn, but when we opened it, sitting on velvet as new as the day it was made, was a golden ring. You reverently picked it up and looking on its inside, there was an inscription that read, "No matter the lives that I have or will live, I will love the same man, the same soul, from now onto forever."
I don't know how many lives we've lived since or if we've even lived at all. I don't know if we have been happy without each other or have had something missing in our souls, but what I do know is that this time we are first meeting at a park right on the water, the skyline of the city is the backdrop of our meeting place, a little cafe sitting nearby. I am taking a walk to clear my head, my last relationship ended badly, when I bump into you, and with a jolt, all of the memories come rushing back to me. "Sorry," I say. And you say, "It's alright. Are you ok?" And one more time, though I don't know if it really can be, fate has its hand held out to me: what is meant to be is meant to be. I say, "No, but I am now." And you say, "Me too."
torrmercury
Necromancer
- Location
- Chicago
- Pronouns
- He/Him
Dreaming of You
I found you sleepwalk-waltzing up the tower of heaven last night. To hide my shame, I became a cloudrunner to meet you in the sky. Though we travel different routes, we will collide in the starlight and sleep the rest of the world away.
I saw you leaping from the rings of Saturn as I gave in to perfect music; harmony. Droplets, maybe tears, are flying around you and they are glittering, fading, shimmering, radiating a lovely light from the darkest places. I think I lost my meaning in the mountains of Asia in a fit of love, all for a heart of gold in the velvet night.
Quite possibly, you may be the only dreamer in this ocean of peace. Deep beneath the surface brews a growing turbulence, a crusade of earth fighting the natural forces of the sea. Nightmares fighting against the pleasure of the gains of land. Nightmares fade to a mere wisp of the sea breeze because always, we will be apart, but dreams become strands, tangible and loving as it wraps around our mind because forever we remain together.
I'm quite aware that we're dying. Falling to pieces as our souls connect the earth and sky, our bodies creating new worlds after we go. We're starting over again, but this time for real. Here we are, on the horizon of the galaxy, trying to feel our path out past the Milky Way.
The stars shine bright as we skate across the fabric of the universe. Greens and whites dash and plop, as magic fills the void between the infinities of space. A bird of magnificent fire summons the rain of vast aeons to fill the darkness with color, heat, and life. I found you singing time is the fire, playing the portrait of a lady, performing a cameraman/woman.
There isn't much else to say to make this better. There isn't much else to say to make this yours. There isn't much else to make to say its our's. Fake it, break it, and it becomes a favorite. The trouble is what we love, the dice are what stays our hand. There is only do or don't but we'll try anyway.
Peace is a lie, there is only passion. We feel, you feel, they feel, I feel. There is no emotion, there is peace. We are serene, you are serene, they are serene, I am serene. Knowledge is a lie, there is only ignorance. We must learn, you must learn, they must learn, I must learn. There is no ignorance, there is knowledge. We know, you know, they know, I know.
You caught me this time, Persian in countenance, Sanskrit in writing, Celtic in speech, wonderful and ancient in all things. In shame, you turned away, German, Chinese, and American, alive and modern with time. You reached out and combed my hair with oceanic saphire, spreading emerald greens like the wilds of Brazil. I take your hand, and touch your face with amber, rubies bursting at the seams.
I am dreaming of you every night, and we are sleepwalk-waltzing up the tower of heaven in the embrace of starlight. Tonight, we are only dancing. Tonight, I'm only dreaming of you.
I found you sleepwalk-waltzing up the tower of heaven last night. To hide my shame, I became a cloudrunner to meet you in the sky. Though we travel different routes, we will collide in the starlight and sleep the rest of the world away.
I saw you leaping from the rings of Saturn as I gave in to perfect music; harmony. Droplets, maybe tears, are flying around you and they are glittering, fading, shimmering, radiating a lovely light from the darkest places. I think I lost my meaning in the mountains of Asia in a fit of love, all for a heart of gold in the velvet night.
Quite possibly, you may be the only dreamer in this ocean of peace. Deep beneath the surface brews a growing turbulence, a crusade of earth fighting the natural forces of the sea. Nightmares fighting against the pleasure of the gains of land. Nightmares fade to a mere wisp of the sea breeze because always, we will be apart, but dreams become strands, tangible and loving as it wraps around our mind because forever we remain together.
I'm quite aware that we're dying. Falling to pieces as our souls connect the earth and sky, our bodies creating new worlds after we go. We're starting over again, but this time for real. Here we are, on the horizon of the galaxy, trying to feel our path out past the Milky Way.
The stars shine bright as we skate across the fabric of the universe. Greens and whites dash and plop, as magic fills the void between the infinities of space. A bird of magnificent fire summons the rain of vast aeons to fill the darkness with color, heat, and life. I found you singing time is the fire, playing the portrait of a lady, performing a cameraman/woman.
There isn't much else to say to make this better. There isn't much else to say to make this yours. There isn't much else to make to say its our's. Fake it, break it, and it becomes a favorite. The trouble is what we love, the dice are what stays our hand. There is only do or don't but we'll try anyway.
Peace is a lie, there is only passion. We feel, you feel, they feel, I feel. There is no emotion, there is peace. We are serene, you are serene, they are serene, I am serene. Knowledge is a lie, there is only ignorance. We must learn, you must learn, they must learn, I must learn. There is no ignorance, there is knowledge. We know, you know, they know, I know.
You caught me this time, Persian in countenance, Sanskrit in writing, Celtic in speech, wonderful and ancient in all things. In shame, you turned away, German, Chinese, and American, alive and modern with time. You reached out and combed my hair with oceanic saphire, spreading emerald greens like the wilds of Brazil. I take your hand, and touch your face with amber, rubies bursting at the seams.
I am dreaming of you every night, and we are sleepwalk-waltzing up the tower of heaven in the embrace of starlight. Tonight, we are only dancing. Tonight, I'm only dreaming of you.
torrmercury
Necromancer
- Location
- Chicago
- Pronouns
- He/Him
Show Me
You know, I'm unsure of what to make of you. You move as if you own the place and yet, your demeanor suggests that you haven't a clue how to even go about doing whatever it is that you want to do. You dance and you sing, but it's incoherent. I can't see it properly. Can you clear it up for me?
I've definitely seen you before, but the question is: where? Have we met long ago or was it just the other day? I know that you seem familiar, but why can't I remember? You seem to be a combination of many things, of people that I've known and of places that I've been.
You are perfect. Not only perfect, but imperfectly perfect. I don't understand you completely, but I don't need to. You just need to let me see who you are, and I'll give you all of me. Your honeyed words, they ring in my ears; my mind is reeling from the knowledge you bring. I need to put you together since no one else can, and I want to make you mine since no one else knows you.
You're like a light at the end of a tunnel, forever apart from the darkness around my eyes. You only give me a moment of clarity before snatching it away, but I want to see all of what you're capable of. Still, I only have so much time and effort that I can spend to try and decipher you. I want to see your flying castles and underwater palaces and I want to experience your rolling fields and living forests. I want to feel your arms around me as I hold you and I want to hear your voice sing in the dripping rain.
You hate me. I hate you. You love me. I love you. I am ambivalent at the worst of time, but I am passionate at the best.
What creatures have you tamed today? What inventions have you made last night? I want to travel with you to see the planets that you've explored and to hear the languages of the peoples you've meet. I want to meet the fairies you found and fight that dragon you encountered. I want to live and journey as you do, but alas I cannot. I have my own life and you have yours.
Why do you seem to know all the answers? Why do you seem to never know anything? You tell me what's possible and what's now, but it's always changing. One day magic is real, but the next cars can fly. Another day, you may be in a starship sailing across the expanse of space, and a week after you'll be chasing wolves across an ancient forest. There is a reason and rhythm to your madness, a rhyme to your beat, a drum to your procession. You boldly go where no man has gone before, and I'm not just talking about Star Trek.
You fill my head with nonsense, sparing details, and half finished paintings. You keep me alive with stories nearly real, so close that I can feel, yet so far away that I can't touch. You've given me lovers, friends, siblings, parents, and children; you've given me the family that I've never had, that I've never would have had if not for you. I just wish that you could give me something else though, something more concrete. The wispy trails of your thoughts drive me insane, nearly forcing me to tear my hair out to take them in. I just want to say that you make me happy, yet miserable all the same.
Sometimes I wish that I could give back to you. You would always tell me that it's perfectly alright that I don't, and I can tell that it really doesn't matter to you. You'll always be there, for me and everyone else that you care for, giving because that's enough for you. You tell us great things, show us the unbelievable, make the imaginary real. You grace us with your leaping entrance, make us swoon with your delightful exit. Any way that I cut it, I am forever grateful to you.
You are novel. You are fresh. You are new.
Show me the world as you see it, tell me the tale of your life. Let me taste the foods that you've eaten, let me smell the scents you breathe. Touch me with strange sensations and fill my heart with love. No matter what you have to show, tell, taste, smell, touch, or feel, I'll be here waiting. I'll be here, ready to receive.
You are modern. You are original.
You are novel.
You know, I'm unsure of what to make of you. You move as if you own the place and yet, your demeanor suggests that you haven't a clue how to even go about doing whatever it is that you want to do. You dance and you sing, but it's incoherent. I can't see it properly. Can you clear it up for me?
I've definitely seen you before, but the question is: where? Have we met long ago or was it just the other day? I know that you seem familiar, but why can't I remember? You seem to be a combination of many things, of people that I've known and of places that I've been.
You are perfect. Not only perfect, but imperfectly perfect. I don't understand you completely, but I don't need to. You just need to let me see who you are, and I'll give you all of me. Your honeyed words, they ring in my ears; my mind is reeling from the knowledge you bring. I need to put you together since no one else can, and I want to make you mine since no one else knows you.
You're like a light at the end of a tunnel, forever apart from the darkness around my eyes. You only give me a moment of clarity before snatching it away, but I want to see all of what you're capable of. Still, I only have so much time and effort that I can spend to try and decipher you. I want to see your flying castles and underwater palaces and I want to experience your rolling fields and living forests. I want to feel your arms around me as I hold you and I want to hear your voice sing in the dripping rain.
You hate me. I hate you. You love me. I love you. I am ambivalent at the worst of time, but I am passionate at the best.
What creatures have you tamed today? What inventions have you made last night? I want to travel with you to see the planets that you've explored and to hear the languages of the peoples you've meet. I want to meet the fairies you found and fight that dragon you encountered. I want to live and journey as you do, but alas I cannot. I have my own life and you have yours.
Why do you seem to know all the answers? Why do you seem to never know anything? You tell me what's possible and what's now, but it's always changing. One day magic is real, but the next cars can fly. Another day, you may be in a starship sailing across the expanse of space, and a week after you'll be chasing wolves across an ancient forest. There is a reason and rhythm to your madness, a rhyme to your beat, a drum to your procession. You boldly go where no man has gone before, and I'm not just talking about Star Trek.
You fill my head with nonsense, sparing details, and half finished paintings. You keep me alive with stories nearly real, so close that I can feel, yet so far away that I can't touch. You've given me lovers, friends, siblings, parents, and children; you've given me the family that I've never had, that I've never would have had if not for you. I just wish that you could give me something else though, something more concrete. The wispy trails of your thoughts drive me insane, nearly forcing me to tear my hair out to take them in. I just want to say that you make me happy, yet miserable all the same.
Sometimes I wish that I could give back to you. You would always tell me that it's perfectly alright that I don't, and I can tell that it really doesn't matter to you. You'll always be there, for me and everyone else that you care for, giving because that's enough for you. You tell us great things, show us the unbelievable, make the imaginary real. You grace us with your leaping entrance, make us swoon with your delightful exit. Any way that I cut it, I am forever grateful to you.
You are novel. You are fresh. You are new.
Show me the world as you see it, tell me the tale of your life. Let me taste the foods that you've eaten, let me smell the scents you breathe. Touch me with strange sensations and fill my heart with love. No matter what you have to show, tell, taste, smell, touch, or feel, I'll be here waiting. I'll be here, ready to receive.
You are modern. You are original.
You are novel.