[02] writing 090915; qmi; pg
Spontaneous writing exercise; written in about half an hour.
it's hard to find the words with tears burning hot in the corner of your eyes and he's clutching his fingers against your shoulders, long and tapered and strong (perfect piano hands, you think, and you remember the way his hands glided over the keys with practiced ease) and digging into your skin. you want to cry but you can't, holding down the emotion rising in your throat, because he is openly crying and someone has to be the calm one, someone has to be one to say, no, it's okay, it'll be okay, even if part of you (the part clawing at the back of your throat, panicked) isn't sure it will be okay - still, you lie, you tell a half-truth you don't fully believe, because someone has to take the steady breaths, has to find the zen and the center and the serenity in the face of his tears. he's holding you tight like he never wants to let go, as if he can keep you this way, even though the both of you know it'll be any minute now, any moment, when you smile and sigh and close your eyes for the last time. the last time, because time is ever-encroaching, not cruel but not sympathetic to his soft broken murmurs of your name, only relentless and unfeeling. time will wear you down; time will take you away; he knows it and holds you to him like he can protect you in the cocoon of his arms from time, from the weakness sapping your ability to stand and causing you to lean against him, face pressed against his neck, breathing in the warm scent of freshly-laundered shirt and clean skin, so distinctly him that you can't close your eyes at night and not think of him, of this scent. you can't sleep, can't dream, without him, without his smile in your mind and your heart thumping steadily to remind you that, yes, you're still alive and, alive, you will always want him. need him. your existence is him, need for him, like air and water and elemental things you've never questioned and still don't question when you are sagging against him as he cries into your hair, as his fingers slide down your back, clutching you ever closer. his chest hitches against yours, solid like an anchor to reality as your vision fades, gray and black, eyes squeezed shut before you know you'll lose your sight completely. this way, it's a choice, a freedom, to embrace the darkness instead of letting it steal over you, and he's still crying, his tears trickling down your neck.
don't go, please, please, stay with me, no, pressed damply against your skin like prayers, helpless pleadings to whoever may overhear, or maybe for your ears alone, as if you can change the inevitable, as if you can reshape the future. his fingers clench in your shirt and then he's turning your head to kiss you frantically, lips sliding over yours with little finesse, with too much raw desperation to be graceful or gentle, and you try to soothe him (you are the serene one, calm, composed, accepting) with wordless murmurs into his mouth that turn into his name (mimi mimi mimi like they say everything and they do, they do, and he knows what you mean) and then--
and that is how you go, his tears mingling with yours, those that finally dropped hot onto your cheeks, your last farewell. your last sigh into his mouth, breaths mingling, and you slump even further in his arms, and it's a wretched cry that fades in your ears.
kui xian.
it's hard to find the words with tears burning hot in the corner of your eyes and he's clutching his fingers against your shoulders, long and tapered and strong (perfect piano hands, you think, and you remember the way his hands glided over the keys with practiced ease) and digging into your skin. you want to cry but you can't, holding down the emotion rising in your throat, because he is openly crying and someone has to be the calm one, someone has to be one to say, no, it's okay, it'll be okay, even if part of you (the part clawing at the back of your throat, panicked) isn't sure it will be okay - still, you lie, you tell a half-truth you don't fully believe, because someone has to take the steady breaths, has to find the zen and the center and the serenity in the face of his tears. he's holding you tight like he never wants to let go, as if he can keep you this way, even though the both of you know it'll be any minute now, any moment, when you smile and sigh and close your eyes for the last time. the last time, because time is ever-encroaching, not cruel but not sympathetic to his soft broken murmurs of your name, only relentless and unfeeling. time will wear you down; time will take you away; he knows it and holds you to him like he can protect you in the cocoon of his arms from time, from the weakness sapping your ability to stand and causing you to lean against him, face pressed against his neck, breathing in the warm scent of freshly-laundered shirt and clean skin, so distinctly him that you can't close your eyes at night and not think of him, of this scent. you can't sleep, can't dream, without him, without his smile in your mind and your heart thumping steadily to remind you that, yes, you're still alive and, alive, you will always want him. need him. your existence is him, need for him, like air and water and elemental things you've never questioned and still don't question when you are sagging against him as he cries into your hair, as his fingers slide down your back, clutching you ever closer. his chest hitches against yours, solid like an anchor to reality as your vision fades, gray and black, eyes squeezed shut before you know you'll lose your sight completely. this way, it's a choice, a freedom, to embrace the darkness instead of letting it steal over you, and he's still crying, his tears trickling down your neck.
don't go, please, please, stay with me, no, pressed damply against your skin like prayers, helpless pleadings to whoever may overhear, or maybe for your ears alone, as if you can change the inevitable, as if you can reshape the future. his fingers clench in your shirt and then he's turning your head to kiss you frantically, lips sliding over yours with little finesse, with too much raw desperation to be graceful or gentle, and you try to soothe him (you are the serene one, calm, composed, accepting) with wordless murmurs into his mouth that turn into his name (mimi mimi mimi like they say everything and they do, they do, and he knows what you mean) and then--
and that is how you go, his tears mingling with yours, those that finally dropped hot onto your cheeks, your last farewell. your last sigh into his mouth, breaths mingling, and you slump even further in his arms, and it's a wretched cry that fades in your ears.
kui xian.