candles rhythmically pulse the light on to the ceiling harmonizing with the beats of the softly playing music.
the pulsing pulls at you.
gazing up at the ceiling - ever moving as an ocean streaming waves of music. the waves caress you.
the ever present fear lurks somewhere in the background. between the glimmer of a thought and articulation.
fear of the pulsing pulling too hard. fear of the music streaming too strongly. fear of acquiescing to the glimmer.
the open window sighs an aggressive breath of cold. not so abrasive, but more unavoidable. myriads of indefatigable frozen fingertips dab your naked arm and try to break through the jeans on your thigh.
focus on the warmth of the flickering candles. the moving fire of the dancing walls. the flowing ceiling.
do i like this? suddenly the thought opens the pulsing, the streaming, the prodding. almost unbearable. so close to -
the throbbing heart beat increases, pounding a terrifyingly frantic rhythm throughout your limbs. you dance to the beat of your panic.
so separate from everyone else. they talk, they laugh. watch the movie of their interaction. so alone. there's the underlying fear again. fear of being enveloped in solitude.
slide next to a warm body. hold a living hand. escape the fear of desperation in isolation.
pictures become so vivid. dimensions multiply. elastic depths between objects expand, pulling you dizzily to the bottomless abyss of their centers.
focus until it becomes unbearable, until you must look away in fear. focus on another object. the process begins again. each brings you closer to the brink of being engulfed by the immeasurable space between objects.
speech would break the spell. pragmatically you can admit the nonsensical nature of your thoughts and know that to speak them aloud would be to destroy their seeming poetry.
