Reflection

Everyday became for you in some way, somehow, you became my mirror, my interior. It wasn’t infiltration because I welcomed what you thought. Or what I thought you thought, which is really just what I thought.

Let me be your accurate reflection. Question me, What I want from you is the shock that comes with my third-person point of view. Blind yourself and let me describe your details, sculpt you from the rubble of what you deem your negative angles into my own version of a perfect thing, because when I met you I met myself too.

10 Years

Maybe 10 years is not such a long time. Wrapped up in an iris 10 years is condensed into 10 circles in a cross-section of wood, and 10 years is an increase in a single number.

But 10 years could also mean the difference between home and back and home and back, and home.

And 10 years could mean a couple doesn’t hold hands anymore and doesn’t get lost staying still anymore. 10 years could cure or kill or crickets could not stop screaming in the left ear, and finally I’m wondering what did I do with all that time I had.

Force Fed

Unimpressive reality with a convoluted fate means the first thing thought of is a great sweeping motion. Not sure why.

Because force fed knowledge is a poor excuse for something that has to be acquired, no more mental expansion than it is the prying open of jaws.

Wait shit don’t question anything, opposition and argument don’t demonstrate anything, you have to be informed to disagree with anything, anyway.

Trapped in a battery farm in preparation for the slaughter house that is the adult world.

That’s a bit dramatic. Employ enthusiasm.

Silent

He says ‘stay as silent as you can’.

Asks to turn the lights off to ask all his questions without the guilt of watching me cry when having to answer or maybe it is just the deterrence of my face. Ill at ease. Question after question about the green glass, about the overturned boat, about the sudden sleepiness, about the following silence, about the false bravery, about his other one’s tears, about why he would lie.

Asks to turn out the lights, says ‘stay as silent as you can’ then puts a knife to the palm of my hand.

From the Perspective of Fairies

What one doesn’t realise is that the most delicate of things hold all the power. Take for example a ripple. It starts with the smallest disturbance on the surface of water. That one pinpoint prick results in the entire body of water to become patterned with circumscribed circles. Take for example an echo. One single note conjured from the larynx of a mortal, standing atop a mountain, can provide an entire valley with music.

Our job as fairies is to pepper the world with the most delicate of details. We believe in beauty derived from intricacy. As mortals lie asleep, oblivious, we tactfully tiptoe upon their world and place dew upon their grass and colour upon their flowers, priming and painting a place they so easily damage. So guiltlessly.

The claimed sightings of us are false. They are not our kind, noisily and carelessly demonstrating their freedom. They are far too robust. We are of a much daintier kind. The size of us is not realised, but let me expose it when I say it takes an army to place a dewdrop. Our nimble size proves us invisible and silent, non-existent even, but this is far from the truth. Our laughter is at a frequency inaudible to mortals, but we laugh with such vigour, we sing with such lust. If one were to look closely they would find trails of elation from when we had danced the night before, illuminated by the moonlight.

But one does not often look closer. Mortals are too of a robust kind, but in the sense of overlooking and disbelief. Although we are believed to be immortal, we are not indestructible, and so many of us suffer. So many of us are taken by the bullet of not believing. As of recently we have been dropping as rapidly as rain does from the sky, in this world of increasing scepticism and disbelief in magic. There is too much than can be explained, and so things unexplainable are deemed not true or make believe.

Our extinction would mean that the world would lose its fine detailing. Mortals take it for granted but soon you will grow simple, a world of rounded edges, fading to grey. A black and white world. Details will blur, clump together, and the world will most probably become a compilation of hulking, unrecognisable objects. Take for example a tree. What is so beautiful about the tree is not the tree itself but the wiry limbs, the gaps between the leaves, the shadows it casts.

But for now we are surviving on the innocent minds of tiny mortals, who are not yet corrupted with questioning. For now we are lasting out time, keeping ourselves hidden under moonlit darkness.

Elevated World

Went away to an elevated world on which trees uproot upwards to avoid chainsaws and men bring their wives closer and most of you don’t even exist.

No more geometric shapes of plane crashes confined to classrooms, no more confinement of classrooms in classrooms and proved right that this is all going over my head. Actually, all going under cause really I’m floating and this isn’t coming with me.

Rooted

Despite the respite that sifts through the leaves
that branch off the tree of your worst nightmare and funny to relate it to trees because they stay rooted while your helium head floats away and this is not really funny.

Back to the sitting, drifting towards your window and breathe in the ability in preparation of falling into the grip of a sinkhole and it wasn’t a slip because your future isn’t an accident but it isn’t pre-designed either.

Not just stumbling upon circumstances because the variations all exist you just go through choosing.

Capital Letters

Total capacity too full with the ‘required’ things. I’m sorry but it has stretched to the farthest corners, pressed up against the walls and now there is no more room for Individual Growth. Obsessed with futures that include capital letters ‘gotta BE somebody’, have to show for something.

The duller tends to be the comparison, their futures open out by mine closes in. Will always be the model of the Lesser but at least I’ve already determined my capital letter.