Tuesdays...

Remain within you for always, touching you with icy gentle fingers when you aren't thinking of the right answers to the questions you ask.

I'm awake only in the dimmest sense right now. The dreams I've been having lately have been more click-reality than reality lately. I spent yesterday sipping from the cup of personal darkness, drinking in words and feelings and then exulting in the silence that covered the world as soon as the rain began.

I don't want to go back to bed yet.
I was asleep, for a while, but then I woke up and realized that I didn't want to sleep anymore, and that I had better remember to eat something before all the food became too cold to be appetizing. Naturally it all had gone long past that point by the time I staggered to the kitchen to find what was left.

Your breathing disturbs me from miles away. It sounds like there is something heavy on your chest, wringing your lungs out with every troubled breath. There may be claws stuck in your throat, wriggling fit to unleash your blood in a small river all over your pillows, or a small creature with eyes like knives and skin like yesterday's dirty cardboard that wants to steal your soul. I don't know, and I am too far away to help. I can't see you, but I can still hear your breathing.

Porous.

And yet...and yet it felt as though there were still words that needed saying, though no-one could quite find out what they were. We looked everywhere, or at least I looked everywhere, but of the necessary syllables there was no trace.

I crawled out the door and into a sphere of madness. Everything slipped out from under my knees and went spinning out into darkness.

There wasn't a real reason for Polly to dislike Aaron, but the hate was there anyway, constantly drifting through her life like spoiled cheese in the back of the refrigerator, the stench wafting out whenever someone opened the door. He'd always been kind enough, and if his gestures of manly bravado were just a little overdone, well, she'd always liked the type of man who would open car doors and pull out chairs for his girlfriend. He should have appealed to her sense of the traditional, but somehow he just didn't. His manners always seemed a little supercilious, his behaviour impeccably perfect and utterly disgusting. An astrologer friend of hers once described him as 'having a slimy green and black aura', and Polly, despite her absolute lack of faith in all such pastimes, merely nodded thoughtfully rather than scoffing.
Aaron had invited Polly out to dinner on more than one occasion, and each time she could feel her skin shrinking away from him, away from the gentle, heartfelt hand laid on her slim shoulder, away from the quiet reek of his cologne, away from the silk ties and perfectly pressed shirts. She always used the co-worker excuse to avoid these dates, begging that she just didn't 'feel right' about going out with someone from her company.

Ach. There's more my fingers want to type, but now I am sleepy.
Good evening.