On the sidewalk with the moon on her shoulder, X dances to music she’s not sure is real or imagined. As those passing her by give strange looks, she shifts from one foot to the other clicking her fingers and shaking her hips, and as the curls of her hair bounce behind her, she kicks her feet against the ground before springing into the cold, autumn air. With next to no effort, she goes from drifter to star in the blink of an eye, floating so high in a sky that mirrors her heart, so full of mystery and beyond the grasp of those who try to call it their own. With the wind in her face, she spreads her arms and floats like a bird on the breeze, free of guilt and of regret. From way up high, the pain doesn’t seem so much of a big deal, and as she flaps her arms as if they were wings, those ghosts in the train station below don’t drag her down but make her smile. Spiralling through the clouds, she hovers above the head of her younger self, that version of her so lost and without direction, and although that version can’t hear the words she has to sing, she sings them anyway. Even if she can’t hear them, she thinks, maybe she’ll feel them in her heart? Maybe they’ll guide her along? So she sings for her, and she sings for him, and she sings for all those with closed minds in the hope there are some down there willing to let a little light in to steer them through these dark days that so often take more than they give. On her back, she zips about looking at the stars thinking about how much she would like some more wine to warm her poor belly, and to keep her safe from harm in these lonesome hours that crush her spirit more than anything. Before she comes down though, she sings the rest of her song. A song as timeless as the mystery of a smile and the look of love. As her feet touch the sidewalk again and she moves over to her car, those sacred words have already travelled through the universe, guiding those in need of guidance to a place where to be soft is not weak but beautiful, as beautiful as a flower beneath a shining sun, or a baby in its mother’s arms, gazing into the eyes of life itself.
A Journal for Damned Lovers UK
A Journal for Damned Lovers US
Reblogged this on misterkaki.
Thank you, my friend!
A place where to be soft is not weak but beautiful… yes, that place
A place where good souls go.
I like every word and sentence. Words on wings, songs of songs and days who will never pass me by without saying helloooooo.
Thank you ever so much! So glad it left that impression!
Another wonderful episode in the life of X
So pleased you’re enjoying them, my friend!