Some people are born in the wrong country, place, or time. They yearn for the intangible yet familiar. Fragment of dream, fleeting scent caught on an unusual breeze, a colour that doesn’t belong in the sunset, a glimpsed distant figure, a tone of a voice heard but never located. I was one such being. I wandered, seeking, lost to the self and the world. Bright eyed, aching, desperate and eager. Eventually, exhausted, I took pause, sought shelter and attempted to touch the souls of others. In the dark of winter I stumbled blindly into open arms. Intoxicated, soul savaged, heart found firmly beating. His lips found mine in the darkness and the rain fell. Petrichor inhaled, imbibed with the scent of him waking my screaming brain. His lips tasting mine innocent yet deeply he sucked my tongue and I fell. Wings beating we fell.

Time travelled. Locations changed. Lives played out. Glimpse of a figure shrouded in sunlight unaware of observing eyes, what I fled from, all that I desired so close yet irretrievable. Days passed tasting of fear, of regret. And the rain fell, the scent explosive. Theatre seduced me in the name of support opportunity arose. Holding heart in open hand I hid beneath the lowered lights. Soul lost in this privacy of darkness tears chimed my doom. Tentative connection, creation unfurled, his eyes on me through the darkness, as I dance; his whisper thunder in my veins as I attach my pink hair. Conversation kisses across my tortured skin. His eyes exhumed my soul, I was undone.

Unravelled, free falling we collided. Inert for too long, ravenous we feasted, ever left parched. Devoured yet longing, in stillness memory played across lips, breast and soul. I fell, he I thought immune. Broken I flailed wanting, willing, lost. Somnolent, redolent with desire I ambled between stolen moments. Drowning in the forbidden. Lusting what could not. Beating wings in the darkness, fire in my heart. Solace in his presence, pared down to essential quick, we coiled one another. Heart in hand I lost. Heart in hand I retreated. Yet there was ever-more.

Misplaced geography located. Too long kept apart, fiercely did we burn. Too fearful my hated heart. Poison on my knife I severed beating wings and plummet beneath my farce. Yearning, aching for what could not. Time travels impervious. Some people are born in the wrong country, space or time and spend their lives disrupted. Lifetimes within a life. Lifetimes imploding, expanding… relative, incomplete, remembered, lost yet lived.

‘Every day is a journey, and the journey itself is home’ Matsuo Basho

For my silent one.

9 comments on “Portent

  1. mrmodigliani says:

    Any man reading this, or any woman, should absolutely quake with its beauty and sheer brilliance

    • Thank you Mr M. I think it is a little obtuse and therefore ‘thick’ or heavy to digest but I enjoyed writing it. It was not what I was expecting to arise when walking down this particular memory lane.

  2. jayne says:

    This is exquisite.

  3. Michael says:

    Reading “Non, Je Ne Regrette Rien’ ” first makes this post so intense! It is like one experience written in two different languages. This is an amazing read…beautifully and painfully expressed.

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