niedec

We don't talk anymore, but I still visit a lot. You'd count all you were against all that I'm not. How the tables have turned, what a sight, you and me, sharing opposite views of the river-birch tree. You'll understand when you're older, you'd say as I cried, fingers clenched 'round my mouth squeezing words back inside. Then your wild eyes staring, daring me to speak. Ah, you've grown much more patient. So quiet. So meek. You'd scream yourself red 'til one day you were blue, and you'd scream yourself purple if only you knew that the silence I feared is a good friend today. All your labels have faded, peeled, and drifted away. I left you some eggshells, a symbol of birth, and the paths that I walked when you tread on this earth. And the shell I came out of, now yours to display. You were part of that, too, in your own twisted way. You were real, not a monster, but like nothing I've seen. Past dissocaitive nightmares now half-lucid dreams. We don't talk anymore, but you'll listen