A new sort of somethings

I am taking a day to myself it seems. Im tempted to buy a disposable camera and go out and take pictures of pretty things, I could go and eat sushi, walk around downtown. Enjoy the day. It's a little bleak and grey out, but that's okay. I think I may watch movies, and laugh at jokes.

Yes, today is a day where I am going to take time for myself. A cup of tea, a nap, a book, a drawing, a piece of writing.

I would love to share a conversation with someone, while we were tangled within a bed. Just a conversation, our skin carelessly brushes against the next. Our eyes dancing and our mouthes concocting the most pleasant of surprises.

The desire to trace gentle words onto anothers skin is great right now. I want to share the atmosphere with you, and the burning tobacco in a cigarette. The thoughts are wild. Whisper sweet somethings to me. The time is yours to share.

Secrets are whispered, exchanged. Our bodies rigid above a coloured bedspread that doesn't match the 70s decor.

An ash tray full of words and broken promises.

Clocks are flicking in the dark light, green promises of the wrong time. The power went out, noone dared to move. The lights never went back on.

The kingdom rests within the sheets. Sheets that are hollow without two, they wouldn't dare.

Overthinking the tiniest of details that not even a snail would care to see. A small crack in the fabric, a thought process that sends one spinning. I've been thinking of what to tell you.

Twenty questions always ends up bad.

Breath.

A short whisper of a breath catches in the throat of unexpected. The small trickle of air has tried to get through the pinhole in the coat she's wearing. A thick coat with many pockets. The air is chilling and sends chills. Arms wrapped tightly around to block the cold from hitting skin.
Too cold. Too close.

The realization has set in, that's all there is too it. The air desperately tries to warm, and to appear endearing, it dances and spirals wanting to dance alongside the pockets, search their depths and contents. But the coat won't let it.

When the reality sets in and one realizes they're just too far away from the world to let people into theirs. That the only world for them is the one they created for themselves. And that when another attempts to make it into the coat with pockets. The coat scares away and buries one within itself and they become lost in the folds of fabric, creating confusion.

Sometimes the one inside the coat yearns to be let out. Yearns to be found and discovered and adored.

but when that reality is soon to be met. the air instead feels chilling, and one loses itself within the fabric.

Whisper some silver reply

Why must my ocean, sea, mermaids, ships, battles, waters, tides, reefs, dolphins, fish, and anchors be hidden so far within a bottle? Why must they have thoughts to themselves and feel tossed and turned with a lint filled pocket they lay. The pocket is within a jacket, unworn but instead in a wardrobe of secrets, the secrets are kept with a key. The key is in my eyes.

Why must all of these treasures be so difficult to find ? Why must the anchor be at the bottom of the ocean, the ship sails freely without being able to stop, the anchor lies at the bottom with rusted broken chains that desperately look for a chance to find their match. The mermaids dance about in drunk happiness enjoying the rays of the bright sun that dance underwater.

The ocean is tossing and turning, a clenched feeling in a chest. A treasure chest full of wonder and gold and jewells, or books with pressed flowers.. the chest is nowhere to be seen.

Why must the wardrobe have the look of Elegance but when one gets close the detail drips away, a cardboard box lies underneath and the tasteful wonderer replies "it's not worth the cash"

Auctioned off? No. dumped in a house of forgotten and dust, with sheets over all of the furniture. Some windows are broken, some others are boarded up. Only a lonely spirit is there to play, she dances to a record player.

A record player that used to belong to her lover.. a lover that left to war. She waltzes about, in wonder. Wondering if he'd come back to find her.

The books open, the pressed flowers fall, the oceans settle, the sun sets... the wardrobe closes.

Secrets... secrets...