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May 16, 2010
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Your eyelids are flickering and little flashes are dancing across the black screens as trickles of memory and regret weave their way through your mind.

Sometimes you wish you could simply  s
                                                              t
                                                                 a
                                                                     r
                                                                        t
                                                                            o v e r.
But you can't, not yet honey; not when there's blue fire engulfing your body and lavender sparks flashing off of a silver blade.

You're a sight for sore eyes darling, and I want you to know that mine are pulsing and numb under these fine violet films covering amber irises. The white lights overhead are numbing your colours honey, and I think we should just open the curtains so I can watch your little bird-boned hands clutching at the air around you.

There's a bonfire burning right there on your pillow darling, and it's brighter than it's ever been in the past; I would say it's a halo, but then I'd have to admit that you're leaving me, honey, and I can't do that, not yet at least. There's narrow glimmers running along your skeleton, and they make me think that the worry-lines on your face are smoothing themselves out now, maybe so that you'll play your part perfectly when they dress you up in your finery and put you in a box.

But that won't be for a while honey, because I'll kiss you awake with a whisper of breath, and darkest night will mingle with fire; and we'll make our rings of amber and emerald, amber for you and emerald for me, because what's a better reminder of love than the flash of light on jewels to see your eyes when I brush my hair from my brow.

I want to breathe air into your lungs and dreams into your mind, but I don't think I have to, and I don't think I should. Darling, tell me what you're dreaming? I'd love to know what memories haunt your slumber, you don't talk in your sleep like I'm used to; I don't suppose I'll ever know, because you'll forget everything when you reawaken, hopefully these rips and shreds will be gone even if there are new ones in your mind.

Do you remember how I stopped you from leaving? I didn't want you to start over without me.
Now you can start over, honey, and I'm glad it will be with me. It will be with me, right? Because I want to see those gold-flecked emeralds staring right through me as you dance around me, your little bird-boned hands clutching at the air around you as you spiral out of control and I try in vain to catch you before you  fall
                                               fall
                                                                                                fall
                                                                                                       again. Fall out of my grasp and into this white room. There's a lily next to the embers resting on your pillow, I know it's your favourite, but you're fading
                                                                                fading
                                     fading                                                                                                                   fading
                                                                                                                                                                               away, and your light is  d y i n g  o u t  and I don't know if you'll make it through the night.

I'll wake up in the morning and hold your spindly fingertips one last time before I leave. I'll drip diamonds and pearls all along the white corridor and into the lemon-yellow livingroom that you painted last week, it still smells of fresh paint you know. I'll answer the echoing rings with tears then laughter.
And I'll hold you in my arms and laugh when I see that the embers caught light again, and the lily is simply a pile of ash sitting on oak, and there are burn marks on the pillow.
And I'll cry when you laugh with me and stroke the feathers that rim the ambers, and when you ask me to dance and I ask if it's too soon, you'll twirl flaming threads around your bird-boned hands and smile again when I pick you up anyway because I know it's what you want.
2010.05.06-2010.05.16

Almost the entirety of this was written on 2010.05.16, excluding the first two or three 'blocks', which were written on 2010.05.06.

Full title: Your Lily-Formed Bones are on Fire
641 words

I wrote this for #theWrittenRevolution's Born Again contest, in which the theme was reborn.
:iconthewrittenrevolution:

It is also for the prompt Rebirth, which is number 24 on ~darknessversuslight's 100 Writing Pieces challenge.
My journal for the challenge can be found [here].

If you have questions about what in the world is happening or anything else about this piece, just leave a comment, I'll make an effort to respond.



I support #dALinkSystem!
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:iconkn1ghtofdarknes:
This is really good. It evokes thoughts sadness, as well as hope. Did you intend for the pheonix metaphor?
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:iconkassi-kamira:
Kassi-Kamira May 16, 2010  Hobbyist Writer
Thank you muchly.:D

Yay! That was the aim.:)

Hmm...I didn't think of it like that, but now that you mention it I'm seeing the Phoenix thing everywhere.:onfire:
Reply
:iconkn1ghtofdarknes:
lol, that's perfect cause of the contest topic too.
Reply
:iconkassi-kamira:
Kassi-Kamira May 16, 2010  Hobbyist Writer
Haha, yep. (:
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