Return

Let me go again, let me go right back to the beginning, where we could still tell each other we loved each other, rebound after rebound. And so I listen to this song and realise what words I've substituted and inserted, and feel like I did back when I was in love. Why do they all ask me of him, ask me of my future? Why do they all expect me to love, when it is one of the last things I wish? Why do they all expect me to be volatile, to be passionate when I do not know any other guy worth knowing, have no desire to befriend any other at all? I am too tired, too bewildered still. There is nothing more I can do for now, except wallow in the aftertaste of a kiss stolen from my very own lips.

Rebirth

The pungent smell of grass fills me, and I can feel the cloudless sky without opening my eyes. I can hear the wind teasing the flowers that stand hesitantly on their fragile stalks, and I can taste the dullness of a bee's humming upon my numb lips. I no longer fit in my skin, and I yearn to peel it gently off, to extricate myself so I may finally stretch.

Purple Rain

Purple rain, as dense as blood, washes over me, stains me. I am getting soaked, but instead of searching refuge, I remain where I am, staring down at myself. The drops fall on my white cotton shift, blossom like terrible dark flowers. Soon, the flowers overlap each other, and the white becomes almost black in the semi-darkness of the sky. My nails look surprisingly light, compared to the shade my skin has now acquired, but they too, have changed. They are fuchsia. I smile a small smile, because I think that's a bit funny. The rain is plastering my hair against my face, so I push it back, my fingers deftly waving it into a braid that reaches my hips. There. That's better. I can't really see much, but I do know that I am in the middle of a field, the woods flanking my left, a small brook singing on my right. There are mountains beyond the brook. But I can't see them now. This makes me feel small and alone, so I sit down. The earth and grass squelch as I do, and mud splashes onto me, but I don't care. The rain washes me clean soon. It feels weird, the rain. As it's viscosity slides down my skin, it is warm, slightly sticky. So I lick my arm, wanting to taste it. It's familiar metallic taste makes me gag, makes me regurgitate what had come in, makes me pant in shock, makes my eyes open wide in fright. I scream, the mountains echoing my voice.

Promenade

I promenade through the wild garden, picking flowers, weaving them into an intricate and overflowing crown. The ripe reds and shouting pinks and singing purples clash cheerfully with the burning oranges and blazing yellows; the few mezmerizing bluebells splashes of sky in a fire. A few leaves and vines poke out here and there, and I am as much part of the color in my azure summer dress. Strapless, tight at the bust, loosening in feather-light cloth till right above my knees. The rest of me is bare, my skin tanning gently in the early summer sun. Soon, I finish my crown. My black curls preventing it from sliding off, I don it. Their gentle perfume woos me, makes me smile like a fool.

Oh, Muse!

Oh, Muse! If only I could feel the sure pressure of his hand against my skin, rubbing away the cold. If only I could feel the tickling warmth of his breath against my skin, as he comes closer to me yet. If only I could feel the amazing safety of his arms around me, as they banish the loneliness. But my dearest, wonderful, thoughtful, amazing, Muse: You give me the gift of inspiration, of imagination, of creativity, of dreaming. And though I can't thank you enough, I can't help but wish, that for once, you'd give me something more substantial.

Nausea

Oscillating, vertiginous, even, despite the fact I'm on fours. A new wave of nausea rocking me. I collapse onto the floor, the surface ondulating, rippling, tilting from one angle onto another, each degree tipping me closer to the descending edge. Spreading my limbs, my hands are flat, sweaty palms with fingers clawing the tiles. Maybe, if I keep holding my breath, it'll stop.

Mirage

I walked towards school, but felt a prickling, a magnetism pulling me back. Everything became white when I turned around, all shapes disappeared, all contours, all smell, all sound, all taste. I was on solid ground and in space at the same time, and behind me the school had disappeared too. When I turned away from where the school had been, I saw a figure standing close to me - so close. With a hand he reached out, caressed my cheek with a finger. His sad smile filled me with nostalgia, and I pressed his hand to my face with my own. I shut my eyes, taking in his essence with my skin. It was overwhelming, when he pulled me to him, and our arms curved around our shapes in echo. The memory of his scent, the temperature emanating from him, the weave of his clothes, the solidity of him. I looked up at his face, and as our eyes met, images flashed, good and bad. Something started pulling me away, and as our hug dissolved, our hands slithered down our arms, fingertips lingering against one another's for a moment more. A candle was blown out, and lit once more. I was back where I had begun, that moment of eternity doubtful in it's vanishing existance.