research
I didn't have much else to do, so I relived a summer, a turning point. I started in June and followed until I realized something I hadn't before: that my life broke clean in the fall for more than just me. For me, the change was immediate, obvious, complete: an epiphany, no more subtle than birth. But outside my chrysalis the summer moon wanes, the air grows cold, no noise at all heralds the approach of a stranger. There are no more friendly thoughts, no more kind eyes resting on my jam jar metamorphosis. I was dreaming change-dreams, but not unconscious: I remember the neutrality, the privacy, the borders. I remember Swiss cowardice and feigned sleep. I remember snakewhispers and rocks against glass. And I never emerged a wallflower moth to apologize.
There was dragonfire in my dreams, and it wakes me now. I am older and harder and burned. I no longer want to be understood. My own pale skin is fortress enough, consort to courage, survived. I won't stop to rob vultures their finds.
There was dragonfire in my dreams, and it wakes me now. I am older and harder and burned. I no longer want to be understood. My own pale skin is fortress enough, consort to courage, survived. I won't stop to rob vultures their finds.