wake

Some people cannot love you the way you want to be loved, because they are emotionally and spiritually frozen. They recoil from or avoid affection. You will never meet a deep penetrating gaze from their shallow eyes; only a surface glance. They will touch your hand with their hand, but never with their heart. They will serve your body but not your soul. They can only connect with you through utility, but never passion. They are empty. They are dead inside. They will break your heart if you let them. You will waste your whole life waiting for them to wake-up to the treasure of what you have to offer. — Bryant McGill

Imagine that you adopt a cat from the shelter. It’s black, green-eyed, and although he acts like a royalty, he is also very mischievous and playful. Having grown up with a Norwegian origin grandmother, you name the cat after the trickster God Loki. And a trickster he is, indeed.  


At nights, when you’re asleep, Loki changes into his human form, eats the food from your fridge, lounges on the couch, and watches you sleep. He finds you strangely attractive, considering the fact that all Midgardians were supposed to be awful. 


He can’t resist the urge wanting to be close to you as he continues pretending to be a cat, and at nights he not only watches you but he lays next to you in the bed as you sleep. Gradually he starts touching you in your sleep, brushing his fingers over your cheek or putting a strand of hair behind your ear. As time goes by, his touches become bolder, he is by no means inappropriate, though.
One night after a tiring day Loki accidentally falls asleep next to you and you wake up in a stranger’s arms, cuddled up against his chest. You are trying to get out of his grip to get a weapon or something before he wakes up, but he only tightens his grip around you and murmurs in his sleep: “Don’t go yet, love.”

wordmap

His words,
are delicate paper trails
through dense inner worlds,
fading footprints
that leave flowers blooming
in their wake,
thick with promise,
and air
for my lungs,
breadcrumbs
for my soul,
to follow
home.

© SoulReserve 2016