and more Dream Wizard
Nigel is healing.
Hope the dream images/symbolism work and I'm not over stretching my aim too far - let me know what you think, feedback is always appreciated.
There's one last chapter after this piece and I'll hopefully write that out tomorrow *looks at time (5.17!!!!!...oops)* er later today, after sleep.
Title : Trading Breaths
Part : 5 of 7
Wordcount : 1305
PREVIOUS - Halfway Somewhere
I enjoyed this evening. I can feel the unfamiliar smile shape my face as I lock doors and switch off lights. Is it really so long since I truly smiled? fingers following the lines of my own mouth I realise that it is. Laughter is a forgotten pleasure. Not everyday is dour yet sparks of warmth and light are treasures doled out by a miserly hand.
Standing in front of my new art I feel foolish. Part of me wants to rip the canvas off the wall, I have the right to that pain and nurture it, can and do live with my scars. A hand brushing under my shirt feels the memories, rough ribbons of skin and sleek pulled patches. I wonder what Ben would make of my marks. Whether pity would flood his eyes, have him turn away or persevere with steadfast good intentions.
I’ve lived that phase. The pitying hands and hurried uncaring race for release. Escaping reality by any means, banishing whispers for short stretches behind harsh breaths, adding a layer of dirt, filthy grime on a shattered psyche. I’ve moved on. I’m a survivor me. The lucky one; or so people have told me, all hushed voices and forced sincerity. How little they know.
I envy them their ignorance.
Ben would be gentle, his touch deep. Closing my eyes I see the half-smile that often tugs his lips. Feel the undemanding touch of those lips as they kiss me goodnight. I catch myself there, my hand is risen to my face and the heat of the flush is apparent. I catch my thoughts and shy from where they wonder. It’s been to long since I’ve known a loving touch and my mind yearns as my body craves.
It’s been a pleasant evening. Casual talk coming so easy, a forgotten talent returning. I am not the brightest wit but I made Ben laugh, and ate up the smiles he freely gave. Looking at the painting I get lost in the sun soaked field. Imagine the sway of grass, dew dampened feet and sun warmed skin.
For a moment I see another’s face, hear a bright carefree laugh and realise that it is the old me laughing. Dancing in the orbit of my sun. Determined I brush away the leaking dribbles from my eyes and step to my side table. The picture is where it always is, face down as it always rests. Without looking I right the frame. Touch the glass that has not been lifted to the light for as long as these walls have housed me. Silver moon beams light the room but I don’t yet look. The fat moon travels the skies, watching me, as eyes closed I kiss the glass, feel the cool against my lips. I turn and go to bed. It is the fleeting warm breath that mingled with mine that layers my slip into dreams. My neighbour Ben. Patient and promising much.
The feel tonight is cooler and I hug my arms around me as I gaze on the Bluebell field. Looking behind me I see a long and twisted path and know I’ve travelled far to reach here. Funny how it feels more like a beginning. A shadow moves and I’m no longer alone. Companion at my side I stroll forward, bare feet sinking into fresh damp grass.
A bunch of Poppies wave in the far distance, further away than I expect though these grounds are new, un-trodden. Nearer, closer to hand, there is a blanket on the ground, thick and quilted to protect from any bumps. We sit there. Silent yet at ease.
Laying back I allow the hand that strokes my brow. Curious I feel those hands slip lower, warm breath flitter against my skin and the soft moisture of lips press unto mine. No pressure, no demands, gentle and serene. It’s not lustful, though there is a jagged breath and distant hint of promise. Strangely numb I don’t resist. The impulse never comes. Fear and disgust stay absent. The breeze is soft and no voice howls betrayal.
Mellow and boneless as a rag doll I lay there passive. Hands lift my jersey and I move as guided, allow it to go away. Allow exposure. The moon looks down on me all godly splendour, bathing me in silver amongst my silent bells. Reaching a hand high I make shadows on it’s face, reaching out to greet it’s age old wisdom. The hand is captured, kissed and clasped. Kisses feather light on the wrist and follow blue veins in a path to my heart.
The path is convoluted. My heart is heavy guarded, thorns and weeds have grown there. Poison kills some and feeds others. The heart itself a fragile glass blown crystal, eager to shatter into smaller shards. I no longer know if it can be touched. The kisses do not stir me.
Kisses anoint my chest, trace the lines that bisect me and sooth the remembered aches of hurt. No hesitation, no questions, no grating sympathy. Just kisses, light and soft. I don’t move, don’t whimper, don’t resist the spell. Moonblind I turn as directed, part lips when the mouth moves back to cover mine. The kiss is gentle. So gentle it causes staggered pain, has me gasp and pull away. Lost in a gaze as knowing and star sprinkled as the night sky.
My heart is pounding, rocking it’s foundations. I want to run. I need to move. I sit still.
Like plunging into freezing waters Goosebumps leap to the surface of my skin. Suddenly I’m there. Sitting in a field, no longer distant. I feel the hands that ease my shoulders. Strong and diligent on tense wound muscle. I hear the soothing murmur that has been present all this time. Feel like I’m waking up but rest there panting as one who has run great strides over bumpy ground.
Staggering to my feet, allowing support from hands familiar yet unnamed I seek the Poppies. I search the horizon. Hands hold me. A hand covers my eye and talks me down from my panic.
‘shhh. It’s okay. Trust me Nigel. It’s okay for you to trust me’
I turn and rest my head into a broad shoulder, arms surround me and hands stroke the length of my spine. Panic resides.
‘Nigel’ The voice changes, calm but now it demands attention. The time for soft whispers and softer kisses is gone. Now the voice wants me to listen so I do. I trust this person. Know this person wishes no harm.
‘Nigel I need you to look. Really look this time’
I’m turned eyes still closed and lean back on the body behind me. Accept the support and press of hands at my sides. Time loops endless before I brave the truth that presses. Opening my eyes I see a sight that sticks in my throat.
Poppies. Poppies everywhere. They mingle with the Bluebells, dance side by side. Not one distant clump but millions, bright red petals scattered far and wide. They’re everywhere, tangled in every rise and dell of the field.
Hands still hold me, thumbs pressing and rubbing my skin. He doesn’t leave me, but holds me steady as I take it in.
My love is here, is in everything I do.
For a second I swear I hear another voice, a whisper on a secret wind. A wind that knows my name, that drops a kiss to my lips so faint I fight to feel it. Cool as glass that melts away. I feel the pang of love and loss yet see the flowers dance.
Arms are ready when I turn, they hold me firm as I shake and let me go with a heavy sigh as I slip away. As I return to the waking world.
NEXT - A Full Day
xx
Hope the dream images/symbolism work and I'm not over stretching my aim too far - let me know what you think, feedback is always appreciated.
There's one last chapter after this piece and I'll hopefully write that out tomorrow *looks at time (5.17!!!!!...oops)* er later today, after sleep.
Title : Trading Breaths
Part : 5 of 7
Wordcount : 1305
PREVIOUS - Halfway Somewhere
I enjoyed this evening. I can feel the unfamiliar smile shape my face as I lock doors and switch off lights. Is it really so long since I truly smiled? fingers following the lines of my own mouth I realise that it is. Laughter is a forgotten pleasure. Not everyday is dour yet sparks of warmth and light are treasures doled out by a miserly hand.
Standing in front of my new art I feel foolish. Part of me wants to rip the canvas off the wall, I have the right to that pain and nurture it, can and do live with my scars. A hand brushing under my shirt feels the memories, rough ribbons of skin and sleek pulled patches. I wonder what Ben would make of my marks. Whether pity would flood his eyes, have him turn away or persevere with steadfast good intentions.
I’ve lived that phase. The pitying hands and hurried uncaring race for release. Escaping reality by any means, banishing whispers for short stretches behind harsh breaths, adding a layer of dirt, filthy grime on a shattered psyche. I’ve moved on. I’m a survivor me. The lucky one; or so people have told me, all hushed voices and forced sincerity. How little they know.
I envy them their ignorance.
Ben would be gentle, his touch deep. Closing my eyes I see the half-smile that often tugs his lips. Feel the undemanding touch of those lips as they kiss me goodnight. I catch myself there, my hand is risen to my face and the heat of the flush is apparent. I catch my thoughts and shy from where they wonder. It’s been to long since I’ve known a loving touch and my mind yearns as my body craves.
It’s been a pleasant evening. Casual talk coming so easy, a forgotten talent returning. I am not the brightest wit but I made Ben laugh, and ate up the smiles he freely gave. Looking at the painting I get lost in the sun soaked field. Imagine the sway of grass, dew dampened feet and sun warmed skin.
For a moment I see another’s face, hear a bright carefree laugh and realise that it is the old me laughing. Dancing in the orbit of my sun. Determined I brush away the leaking dribbles from my eyes and step to my side table. The picture is where it always is, face down as it always rests. Without looking I right the frame. Touch the glass that has not been lifted to the light for as long as these walls have housed me. Silver moon beams light the room but I don’t yet look. The fat moon travels the skies, watching me, as eyes closed I kiss the glass, feel the cool against my lips. I turn and go to bed. It is the fleeting warm breath that mingled with mine that layers my slip into dreams. My neighbour Ben. Patient and promising much.
The feel tonight is cooler and I hug my arms around me as I gaze on the Bluebell field. Looking behind me I see a long and twisted path and know I’ve travelled far to reach here. Funny how it feels more like a beginning. A shadow moves and I’m no longer alone. Companion at my side I stroll forward, bare feet sinking into fresh damp grass.
A bunch of Poppies wave in the far distance, further away than I expect though these grounds are new, un-trodden. Nearer, closer to hand, there is a blanket on the ground, thick and quilted to protect from any bumps. We sit there. Silent yet at ease.
Laying back I allow the hand that strokes my brow. Curious I feel those hands slip lower, warm breath flitter against my skin and the soft moisture of lips press unto mine. No pressure, no demands, gentle and serene. It’s not lustful, though there is a jagged breath and distant hint of promise. Strangely numb I don’t resist. The impulse never comes. Fear and disgust stay absent. The breeze is soft and no voice howls betrayal.
Mellow and boneless as a rag doll I lay there passive. Hands lift my jersey and I move as guided, allow it to go away. Allow exposure. The moon looks down on me all godly splendour, bathing me in silver amongst my silent bells. Reaching a hand high I make shadows on it’s face, reaching out to greet it’s age old wisdom. The hand is captured, kissed and clasped. Kisses feather light on the wrist and follow blue veins in a path to my heart.
The path is convoluted. My heart is heavy guarded, thorns and weeds have grown there. Poison kills some and feeds others. The heart itself a fragile glass blown crystal, eager to shatter into smaller shards. I no longer know if it can be touched. The kisses do not stir me.
Kisses anoint my chest, trace the lines that bisect me and sooth the remembered aches of hurt. No hesitation, no questions, no grating sympathy. Just kisses, light and soft. I don’t move, don’t whimper, don’t resist the spell. Moonblind I turn as directed, part lips when the mouth moves back to cover mine. The kiss is gentle. So gentle it causes staggered pain, has me gasp and pull away. Lost in a gaze as knowing and star sprinkled as the night sky.
My heart is pounding, rocking it’s foundations. I want to run. I need to move. I sit still.
Like plunging into freezing waters Goosebumps leap to the surface of my skin. Suddenly I’m there. Sitting in a field, no longer distant. I feel the hands that ease my shoulders. Strong and diligent on tense wound muscle. I hear the soothing murmur that has been present all this time. Feel like I’m waking up but rest there panting as one who has run great strides over bumpy ground.
Staggering to my feet, allowing support from hands familiar yet unnamed I seek the Poppies. I search the horizon. Hands hold me. A hand covers my eye and talks me down from my panic.
‘shhh. It’s okay. Trust me Nigel. It’s okay for you to trust me’
I turn and rest my head into a broad shoulder, arms surround me and hands stroke the length of my spine. Panic resides.
‘Nigel’ The voice changes, calm but now it demands attention. The time for soft whispers and softer kisses is gone. Now the voice wants me to listen so I do. I trust this person. Know this person wishes no harm.
‘Nigel I need you to look. Really look this time’
I’m turned eyes still closed and lean back on the body behind me. Accept the support and press of hands at my sides. Time loops endless before I brave the truth that presses. Opening my eyes I see a sight that sticks in my throat.
Poppies. Poppies everywhere. They mingle with the Bluebells, dance side by side. Not one distant clump but millions, bright red petals scattered far and wide. They’re everywhere, tangled in every rise and dell of the field.
Hands still hold me, thumbs pressing and rubbing my skin. He doesn’t leave me, but holds me steady as I take it in.
My love is here, is in everything I do.
For a second I swear I hear another voice, a whisper on a secret wind. A wind that knows my name, that drops a kiss to my lips so faint I fight to feel it. Cool as glass that melts away. I feel the pang of love and loss yet see the flowers dance.
Arms are ready when I turn, they hold me firm as I shake and let me go with a heavy sigh as I slip away. As I return to the waking world.
NEXT - A Full Day
xx