I woke up one morning an hour before my alarm was supposed to go off to my phone ringing. An unknown number showed on the screen, so I threw it on the floor, tucked the covers over my head, and drifted back to sleep. Only a few minutes later, the number tried again. With an irritated grumble, I rolled out of bed like a whale out of water and curled up face first on the floor before answering.
I’ve shoved you deep inside a cave.
There were tigers in the concrete jungle, monsters grinning, feigns dripping with the blood of the sacred. They prowled the streets, starved for the taste of dreamers, thirsty for the veins of believers, as they hunted individuality, pooled their victims in conformity, weaved the ends of eternity into a thousand webs of misconception. But she was no fly, nowhere near ready to die the death of a misinformed slave. She spread her wings, chased her dreams across the wind, tasted freedom on her lips, and no longer sipped but gulped, gulped, gulped the fresh air in desperation, in love. The fly became a bee, wild with fiery sting, unbreakable and redeemed.
"You left before I woke and now the room feels cold. Do I dare move from these crumpled sheets, this mattress that slumbers in the musk of you? In the twilight hours, you caught my breath between your teeth as I held your bleeding soul between my palms. Though I’d given you everything, I wanted to give you more. I longed to wrap your hollowed skeleton in my skin, and heave the fiery essence of you into my cold veins. Giving you my body was the least of it. The whole time, you held me like a glass vase, afraid to shatter my fragile walls. I begged for you to dive right in, and you danced around the surface, unsure of yourself, unsure of me. It’s okay though. I’m unsure of me, too. Unsure of the untamed scars etched into my being. Unsure of the starved, bone-thin frame this soul calls a home. Unsure of the wildfire burning, consuming, licking the backs of my pupils. I can feel it making its home there, in the back of my brain. An unquenchable curiosity, a never-ending ache. I leave the bodies of lovers piled in the wake of trying to destroy it. Perhaps you will be one too. Perhaps you will save me. Maybe I’ll save you. Who is to know? But as we wait to find out, let me dip my hands into the sloppy, wet mess of your soul as we morph into a single being on this wild planet we call home."
My solitude feels welcome after nights spent caving to demons, most past, some there to linger and never die. One day, I will learn to live around them. I will grow an orchard around my wounds and plant roses in the scarred land. I will forgive those who dug into this earth with scythes and greedy hand. I shall watch green overcome ruin. But I will not forget.