Hello my friends,
Well I do hope you’ve all had an exceptional 2009! As I reflect on the past year, I realise that it has been the most incredible one so far, and I look forward to an even better 2010. One of my resolutions for next year is simply to be more creative and to put a further emphasis on writing songs, poems and stories. I do seem to have lacked quite a lot of motivation since I got back to Australia, which is disappointing considering creative expression is something that makes me feel complete.
Only last week, however, I was fortunate enough to stumble across a blog entitled “Hearts unbroken & Words untold.” It’s written by a Belgian girl who goes by the name of Froebby, and I was left incredibly inspired by her enchanting prose and her open, honest heart. Please do yourself a favour and give her blog posts a read; I’m sure you will see what I mean! Her heartfelt writing style encouraged me to write this little story (mostly in between phone calls at work, I might add) about the joy of what we think to be true love, followed by the insane amount of confusion that awaits when we realise that it’s not. Admittedly it does have a sombre ending, but it is based ever so slightly on the truth, and I see it as a lesson that we should always strive to remain true to ourselves and those around us in order to achieve happiness.
So thanks Froe, for motivating me to achieve my resolution before the new year even begins, and I wish everyone a very happy 2010 🙂
She Must Have Been Sleeptalking
A busy day exploring a faraway city draws near an end, and the two touring sweethearts make their way through the havoc of the inner-northern suburbs to the location where they will retire for the evening. Putting the general chaos of their day behind them, the couple display an ambience of nervous anticipation for the hours ahead, as this coming night is due to be their first spent together. Alone. At one. At last.
Entering the room they reflect on the day’s precedings before making preparations for their inaugural twilit companionship. Nearby, the dull roar of the subterranean carriages shake the walls ever so slightly, in precise harmony with the rumbling of their hungry hearts. She rests her head gently upon his shoulder as he grasps her slightly trembling hands in his, providing a much-needed quietude prior to the forecast storm. A sense of peace washes over as they take in the space before them which they will shortly occupy, their inhibitions gradually fading as the late summer sun merges with the darkening urban horizon. Their surrounding air becomes lighter than light itself; an aura of magnificence emanating from these two perfectly entwined souls.
Sublime to the eye, sweet to the smell and pure to the touch, she remained every inch the beauty he recalled from his yearnful, endless memory. This was a memory that delved back a multitude of epochs, beyond the fruit, beyond the flower, beyond even the fateful event seemingly millennia ago where the seed was first sowed, paving the way for their impending and everlasting reunion. To her, he was the brick, the support, the solid rock she had grasped onto so tightly in the dawning months leading up to and including this moment.
It was a journey of unimaginable proportions and enigmatic synchronicities that finally culminated in this extraordinary state of communion. From every corner of the universe, all entities involved throughout the duration of this amorous journey wept ethereal tears of togetherness, filling the small but intimate room with their unconditional love. Finally, here they were. Alone. At one. At last.
The overhead iridescence dims, yet the radiance within the room increases infinitely. The silken sheets glide effortlessly over their joy, her arms linking onto his, skin to skin, breast to breast. Their lips draw near, held apart briefly by the warmth of their devoted respiration, before plummeting into divine union, the richness of their embrace sending waves of violet flame shimmering unanimously down their spines. His electric hands saturate her surface, the exponential spark of a thousand strokes permeating deeply into her psyche. Her hair shimmers a vibrant shade of gold as his kiss intensifies, both parties joyously giving, receiving, and eventually succumbing to all that is and all that ever will be.
Time ceases. Love abounds.
She gazes into his closing eyes, savouring every breath he draws and inhaling the luminous energy of which he expels. Whispering softer than that of her velvet skin, she opens a direct line to the centre of his being. Scarcely a moment before he drifts into his most heavenly of slumbers, he becomes engulfed by those
three ………… I
ambrosial ….. LOVE
She must have been sleeptalking.
She awakens at the crack of dawn, and with delicate hesitation, establishes her day by means of a lukewarm shower. Her situation puzzles her whilst the falling water indifferently washes away the thrill of the foregoing evening. Tightening the hot water valve with marginal force, a complication becomes apparent, understandable only to her, as the now-icy stream infiltrates her heart. Unbeknownst to him, her tears of sorrow painfully seep into the drain on that sombre morning.
Tolerating the kiss welcoming her to his glorious day, she is eager to leave the room and get on with exploring the sights of the metropolis. With last night’s adoration far from mind, a hardening bubble appears between his confused advances and her aloof responses. He appreciates her change of gesture, yet his mind cannot cease its stirring, constantly wondering what it was that he has done wrong.
As their second day nears an end, he offers comfort lying closely beside her, gently stroking her cheek with the back of his fingers. He questions her as to why she has appeared so detached. Returning to a similar state of quietude experienced the previous night, albeit a more solemn ambience this time around, she remains unwilling to ignite his confusion any further. She rolls to her side and assumes an artificial state of sleep, careful not to reveal her struggling, silent sobs.
For what seems like countless hours, he lies on his back and stares at the ceiling, his eyes running repeatedly along every nail, contour, crack and defect that he can make out on the dimly lit timber boards above him. Even the spider is aware of his intent glance, his eyes like laser beams, slowing the arachnid to a painful crawl. Wary of making contact but yearning more than ever to lie within her tender hold, he rests his arm by hers and attempts to calm his shattered identity.
On the brink of his drifting off, he becomes subconsciously aware of her shifting arm, and involuntarily adjusts his own to keep his source of chaotic comfort nearby. In an instant and unprovoked fit of rage she snaps her arm away from his touch, and straight down that direct line to the centre of his being she furiously yells
three …….. DON’T
acerbic ….. TOUCH
words ……. ME
He snaps awake. He studies her over. Her eyes: closed. Her muscles: relaxed. Her breathing: heavy and defined. He recoils to the far side of the mattress, feeling every inch the predator that she falsely made him out to be. Despite burning into his endless memory, he will never again mention the horror caused by her sudden nightmarish outburst.
She must have been sleeptalking.