And he's right. I've got to keep on running when the disappointments tangle up my own feet.
But those who court melancholy rarely choose to smile.
"She has to replace the dead-men in the wall." Marc opened the door for me and I nodded my thanks to him.
"Exactly! The dead-men are decaying at a faster rate because they're underground, and it's causing the fence to sink." I waited for Marc.
"But can she replace the dead-men without destroying the fence?" Neither one of us noticed the look of horror on the person's face who walked directly behind us.
You watching me watching you watching me… will it remain just a game or move on to something else?
"And?" With one finger under her chin, he tilted her head back to look into her eyes.
"Oh my god, you scare me. I can't explain that either, but you do. What are you?" Her tears surprised him and he pulled her into his arms. One of them trembled violently.
"I can be whatever you need me to be." He whispered hoarsely.
"You've got to have a soul to cast a shadow." He said before flying off.
"Are you ready… oh… oh my…" She paused in the doorway taking him in. Black was definitely his color, and those leather pants showed off certain advantages… and… shaking her head, she took a step towards him. "They are going to love you at The Dungeon."
"I can hardly wait." With another resentful tug on his wings, he followed her outside.
"But those words are twisted and dark." I protest, but my heart beats fast at the thought. I don't believe in love at first sight, but I now know what it's like to love a complete stranger. He wants my words.
Should I risk it? Should I give him the okay? The worse that could happen is he could steal my words, say they are his own and a whole other country would never know the difference.
But they would still be my words.
She took his hand in hers and lightly traced his palm.
"Now, Death, he's immortal. Out of all of the deities, he's the only one I know who is. The problem with godhood is too often, your name is forgotten, and that itself is a kind of death. You look cold, should we go inside? Now, the strange thing about Death is…"
"What if these strings got tangled and I was unable to perform for him?" She mused from her jumbled heap. "Would he miss me? Come to untangle me? Or would he leave me to rot while he sought out a new dancer, maybe one who ran on batteries, no strings attached."
She dreams of scissors to cut those strings.
"Oh no. No. I am not going crazy. This is not going to happen." She grabbed the casserole dish, and wrestled her balcony door open. Then, with one heave, the casserole dish, lid and all went sailing off into the woods.
"Everything is normal." She reassured herself.
But the next time she took a walk in the woods, a tiny but very deep voice whispered Thank you… to her.
Don't deny it. You know you do. That oh so guilty look on your face told me so when our eyes met and you quickly looked away.
It makes me want to laugh to think someone could find a release with me.
"I don't even like eggplant!" She mumbled to herself as she picked out a purple shampoo bottle. "Next week, I think I'll choose brown. At least then I can buy some bread!"
"What do you mean?" She asked, closing her eyes and letting her head fall back onto the pillow.
"The first time I saw you, I knew I could make you mine. Without a doubt." He traced lower, smiling at the way her breathing was becoming more rapid.
"The very first time… hmmm?"
"And something else they're wrong about, watched pots will boil. Rather nicely, in fact." He kissed her neck, moving his hand even lower.
He said, "You don't belong because you won't let yourself belong. They hold out welcoming arms, but you duck your head and evade their smiles. You could be the perfect part of a whole if only you would try."
But instead, I stand back and watch yet another circle close without me.
I am what I am.
"DC, get them damned clouds our of yer head and finish washin' up them dishes, ya lazy good for nothing git." If she weren't careful, a kick would follow the slap. She never cried over these things, crying only got you locked in the dark closet with all the spiders for the day.
Isn't it a shame these things really happen?
Did I ever, in turn, think to make you laugh? No, not me. I was a selfish creature allowing your existence for the sake of my pleasure. And now I've lost you. Serves me right.
You see, I would think enlightenment would be a scary thing to have. I think there is good reason for the shadowy places in my heart and mind. I agree, complete darkness is bad. But equally harmful is pure white light.
So keep your coals, your beds of nails, while I elude enlightenment for yet another day. Which one of us will be more content?
"Don't you ever cry again!" I told him, tear stains still marking my face. "It tears my heart in two to see you so sad."
And he smiled for me.
I found out later this was one of his presents to my mother, who stayed home and had a long hot bath and a glass of wine (or two) to recover from a day of four over-excited, rambunctious kids. I think it was a good present.
Five minutes pass and he spreads his wings, his feathers blue in the fading light, to once again attempt flight.
He'll never fly, not with a wing so torn and battered. But maybe his determination will inspire others to fly. To dream even when the situation is hopeless.
But I'll keep your secret. If you looked at me like that openly, I don't think I would survive.
"You hate me that much?" He asked.
"No… I love you that much." She tried to smile, but didn't quite make it. "You amaze me, fascinate me. And now that you're leaving my life, I don't ever want to hear that you died. You deserve to live forever, even if it's just in my mind."
"I don't know what to say."
"Then say goodbye and leave it at that."
Of course some people like their tea weak. The predictable blandness comforts them, makes them feel safe. But my writing's not supposed to be that way. My words have nothing to do with safety, with predictability. It's a bitter black tea, cut only with boiling water. With no stupid, stale teacakes to accompany it.
"Only by midgets wearing black leather underwear and red feather boas."
"I used to like beating my meat back when I had a penis..."
"I gave them up for Lent last year."
"That depends, would you like a nice prickly cactus shoved up your ass?" er… but he might, so scratch that one.
Words are funny. If he had said spankings, I wouldn't have been nearly as appalled.
This I do know. Once you've broken it down and taken it apart, you can put it back together again, but it will never be the same.
Anything you say kid, that's okay kid, you're going to make it on your own.