lost in rainbows
Colloquial phrases fail to capture the magnitude of the loss and the depth of the chasm left in the place of tender, playful love that was — always more warm than chaotic, more soft than burning — left to spend its final moments gasping for air. Especially when it’s too strong to die. Too deeply rooted in the most fertile parts of your soul. Destined or doomed to ebb and flow with the rising seas of Lethe. Anchored to bittersweet memories that take on a life of their own.
In dreams the memories, immortal and thriving, paint the landscape of the unconscious mind. Neither numbing nor nightmarish, the visions of what was and what could be cast shadows and gift light to the darkness creeping behind closed eyes. Fate reels you out into the desert where Charybdis once swallowed ships only to cut the string and leave you flailing, drowning in scorched earth. Dry heat forces you to run toward the sawn off edges of the world. There is no edge. From no place can you jump. This is the utopian realm of dreams.
A cosmic wasteland embodied in the hollow shell of a lover laid to waste. A mind sorting through discarded moments in an effort to prepare for the inevitable waking. Dirtied then polished to shine bright as the flames of hellos…
