Whispers of My Deep Soul

Above night, the embers of fire spark, alight with the depths of my hand. Fingers which stroked the edges of suppressed voice, fleshing its fretful chords across creases of bark. Handwriting that scratched and dug its way deep into the grooves of parchment, searching for a way to escape the friction of my soul.

My lips tremble, setting my inner rhythm afire. Outside, my cafe's remaining, coffee stained, stucco wall leans sideways against my heart's weight. Its tiled roof narrows as it stretches, fading into a deep black that blends in with the night.

There are only stars above me, ones that swell and fade, like a slow, remnant heartbeat. Handfuls of stars dotted on night's canvas, by my shaking, crying hand. They move at my will, their vision keeping watch over my near-dying cafe.

I step across the shadowed cobble stones, checking over my shoulders, my white heels buried in the ashes of despair. My steps whirl around in nonsensical circles, always returning back to this hero image: my warped, weighed down cafe.

Can I wake up? Just for a single moment, please. If I just make my eyes widen, I might be able to return to ... the love I know.

A different way of life has etched its way into my dreams, creeping its dabs of pronounced life into my unconscious mind. What is the world now, yet remnant symbols to behold and transfer into the present? Large dabs of green brush paint above me, sway fiercely in the air. Shadow trees, that once surrounded my cafe, burning the etches of my mind space. Focusing on them, I allow their green to seep into the skin of my arms, shooting a tickling, warm sensation through my body. I am being lifted, propped by their nestling texture and embrace their guidance.

Remnant white-grey bark falls like rain against my skin, paper thin and promising. I etch my messages into their opaqueness with my sharp fingernails. Whispers of my deep soul, that reveal themselves in confusing lingo that I never knew existed within me.

Fragile, charred red leaves sprout from my hair, flickering wildly in the dark. Leaves that burn with intensity, setting my heart racing. Aglow with faces of pained expression, the leaves eventually drop. Their agonised screams assault the stark darkness as they lash their pain against its deep buried past. I stretch my arms out, reaching for the faces of familiarity in the fiery leaves, wanting to save them from falling and disappearing again. Yet they continue to merge with the black.

No colour is constant in this world, yet marked and erased as the depths of my unconscious unleashes its states. As the green leaves disappear, I begin to roll across the black, landing atop a brown trunk, which tips and clunks open at the force of my fall. A deep blue cardigan heaps itself together across my knees, wrapping its arms around my shaking legs.

Stroking the cardigan gently, I feel the familiarity of its merino wool. A single tear drops from my eye, crashing my heart upon the garment. Heart shaking, I allow my bark messages to fall, cascading their crazed feelings like a storm across the cardigan. The deep whispers of my soul sizzle with a steamy presence, lingering like smoke in the air.

To be held again, to be touched, even through absence of presence, through his cardigan, unravels my heart. Somewhere in its life filmstrip, my heart's beats have captured something special. A deep memory, a lingering love moment, a sensation, a passion, anything that I may dare face again.

The weight of my inner conflict strikes smartly against the black, cutting out a heart shaped window with wings. It flutters before my eyes, luring me to peer into its world and to face my deepest pain.

I will myself to peer into that window, reaching my arm inside the room it occupies and sketching its familiarity with my sharp nails. A broken flower pot, bursting with ruffled peonies, melting their sensual touch against his skin. Topless he was, lying there, his eyes warm with the passion of love as he stared at me, wrapped in his cardigan.

The fire burned slowly, heating up our night, fuelling each tender stroke of his fingers. His hands I grasped, filling my soul with the vast brave world that we had voyaged and built together.

I wanted to tell him I loved him, my fingers burned with the words, unravelling my soul onto paper. A love letter to him, that burned alight in the fire. His memory, I reach for still, now, before it is engulfed by flames and he fades again.

If I could just open my eyes, just this once and return to the life I know. My precious life with him. What I would give to be able to be there again.