I turn dramatically to the entirety of birds present on this planet. They all stare at me, expectantly, their little birdie faces looking at me in various expressions and emotions. After all, birds are not one unified group.
“I’m sorry guys,” I whisper, my voice hoarse and pained.
One African Grey caws out, “Why are you sorry, Meig?”
I take a long, slow breath, “Tumblr Anon says you’re not real.”
Thousands of voices caw out in unison. The horror in the air is palpable. A Harpy Eagle screeches in fury, while a Little Blue Penguin waddles up to me at the front of the room.
“What do we do?” the penguin asks, even though penguins can’t talk, because I mean, does it matter, since penguins apparently don’t exist?
“We move on, my friend,” I say, patting the penguin on the head, “We move on.”
Slowly but steadily, the birds fly or walk away, all moving out in unison. Some go to universes where they do exist. Others stay here, as ghosts - remnants of an idea that once was.
I change the title of ADAD to A Pseudosuchian A Day. I begin talking about scutes instead of feathers.
But finally, the lies we have all been living under have been exposed.
My eyes watching you from afar. My heart aching when seeing your pictures. My soul calling for you in silence. I don’t know what is happening to me. I need you badly, I wish to see you strongly. My heartbeats whisper “I love you”. I mention you before my sleep. And you come to me in my sleep. I wake up looking for you around, wishing to find you beside me.
And coincidences gather us. As if we never knew each other, we avoid looking at each other. And the heart burns from its sighs. Ego has become the title of our story. So life continues more with imagination than reality. This is what vanity spawns. If only we humble ourselves more, so that our souls would cheer up and our hearts flourish with peace and love.
تراقبك عيناي من بعيد …ويتألم قلبي عند رؤية صورك …تناديك روحي بصمت …لا أعلم ما الذي يحصل لي …أحتاجك بشده ..وأرغب بلقياك بقوه …تهمس دقات قلبي ،وتقول أني أحبك…
أذكرك قبل نومي ..فتأتيني في حلمي ….
أستيقظ وأبحث من حولي لعلي أجدك بجانبي ..
وتأتي الصدف لتجمعنا…وكأننا لم نعرف بَعضُنَا ….كل منا يغض بصره …ويحترق القلب من أهاته …الكبرياء أصبح عنوان قصتنا …
فلتستمر حياتنا بالخيال أكثر من الواقع …
هذا ما يصنعه الغرور…ليتنا نتواضع قليلاً …
كي تسعد أرواحنا وتزهر قلوبنا حباً وسلاماً
“I owe you a lot of things, babe. I’m kind of surprised you’re still counting, honestly.”
The helmet drops to the floor with a dull thud, but you can’t focus on anything but his face, so much older than the last time you’d seen it. He’s covered in blood, and he looks like he carries the weight of the world on his shoulders, like he’s waded through so much shit just to get back, but you can’t help but be relieved to see him, your Jason after so many years.
“It’s really you,” you marvel, already choking back a sob, drinking in the way his lip quivers when he smiles, the way he surges forward and wraps you in his arms.
“You’re my best friend,” he whispers, breathless. “I promised I’d always come back to you, and I meant that. You’re my home.”
I love the get down for a lot of reasons but my favorite thing abt it is that i LOVE the 70s….late 70s in particular….& previously I slogged through even the worst of that 70s show just to inject a milktoaste version of that aesthetic quality into me…..but then baz luhrmann came to me in a dream and kissed my eyes and whispered, “my batshit aesthetic but it’s late 70s New York”……thank you
wanting only more
gliding over curves
that last for days
tattoos of lust
that remain behind
to keep inciting dripping need
unleashing the wanton
that only whispers
Watching a program in bed with the wife and someone gives birth and the baby is beautiful, and suddenly my wife’s hands are in my hair and her face is by my face and she whispers ‘I want a baby with you.’
My god, me too baby. Nine months until we start trying. We can wait that long, we’ve already waited years!
My eyes fluttered open at the sound of voices murmuring above me. I squinted as the harsh sunlight nearly blinded me. A shadow shaded my face and I found myself staring into the face of Gaston. You have got to be joking.
I rolled over on my side, choking and coughing. The taste of smoke was burned into my mouth and lungs. My body ached and I longed to slip back into unconsciousness. As I looked around me, panic shot through my veins.
“W-what–” my words were cut off by a series of gasping coughs as I struggled to maintain enough breath to talk.
“Shhh, you should be resting,” Gaston urged, his voice surprisingly smooth and natural – a stark contrast to the rich, deep voice I heard earlier that afternoon.
Shaking my head to clear my thoughts, I attempted to prop myself up on my elbows, but my arms were trembling too violently. My vision was blurry, as though I were staring through a layer of smoke.
“May I?” Gaston asked, placing his hands under my back.
Frustrated by my previous attempts, I nodded. A few nearby women stifled gasps and giggles as they watched, no doubt wishing to trade places with me.
He helped me sit up against his shoulder, his hands wandering a little too far down near my waist.
“Don’t,” I hissed, glaring at the man.
He chuckled, but removed his hands from my back with a flirtatious wink.
I took deep breaths, attempting to resist the coughs building up in my lungs. My head pounded and the crackling of the fire echoed in my ears. I was so foolish…
“There’s no…retrieve the body…fire has died down…”
“W-what body?” I murmured, my voice shaking and my eyes widening as the words carried through the wind and reached my ears.
My breaking looks like two showers a day
Sitting on the floor naked tearing at fruit I don’t know how to cut with my hands and teeth
My mess is mango juice dripping from my chin as I whisper to myself
“This is healing, this is good”
This is when I am at a loss without a deep ravenousness pushing me out
Wrapped in medicinal self-neglect
Aren’t I glowing?
Aren’t I golden?