The Attic...

just more ramblings...

     Four days ago I saw your reflection in the pane... You were outside looking in, staring at me through the glass again. And it all screamed anew. Your ghosts no longer content to play silently in my shadows keeping my demons warm. Though it was just your reflection I could feel the pull of your eyes... Sweet gravity. Your smell... your taste, again new in my mouth. It never leaves. I wake to my days in tears, with you lingering on my tongue.

     So I climbed. A winding staircase, spiraling up into darkness.  Iron black, wrought through time, treads of burled oak... worn but polished to a mirror shine. Your face reflected in every step. They're quiet up there today. They know my intent. I don't recall erecting this place, but I know I did. It's mine. It's been here all along. This is where I keep them, this is where they stay when they aren't out to play. This is where they store and guard all that is me. And therefore all that is them. I make this journey frequently. Each and every day. Just never for your purpose. It is such a long climb. But I cannot resist this time. Each step a struggle to not flee to the basement to wait to die. 

     The door bears no illumination. No light on this floor glows. I keep the passage dark and hidden except to the one I chose. Do you remember? I gave you your own key. So I pass through the dark as I feel the hand take mine. But I can find it even if blind. I constructed this entry myself. A passage through ashe, my legends and lore carved upon the door. My feet will always know they way. They will never fail the find. It's the haven of my memories, lying guarded without time.

     As I grasp the knob of black iron, the shudder and tremble rages and I stand for a while unable to move. Struggling for control. Do you see? You leave me on the verge of destruction... Every day. Always blinking tears. Always a mere tremor away from falling to the floor and curling up in a knot of my cries. So I shake in the dark as I feel the hand alight. Just there on my shoulder to steady me and share my weeping, to lessen my wish of flight. But there will be no fleeing this day. I saw you staring through the glass and your ghosts screamed my name. So I have to re-visit your place in here. To bathe again in brand new pain.

     I shut the door behind me and wait for my eyes to adjust. Through the tears I have been weeping throughout my climb, I cannot help but smile. This is the home for all of my rust. The home of all my miles. This is the home of all my smiles and laughs... the bits of good cheer. Every trinket and every bauble... every shiny souvenir. This is where it is secreted. The garden of my demons grows in here. This is where I bear my wounds and scars to light. Where I wrest for strength to hold the pain. This is where I bleed agonies and sorrows and leave the pools remain. My demons keep the blood, the pictures, the letters, the souvenirs and image flashes... The fires and the ice. The diamonds and the ashes. The home movies of my life. They clean my wounds and help me store everything that is mine.

     The ceiling's slanted with the pitch of the roof up above. But the walls have many windows...  Windows streaming sunlight. Casting the shadows I so love. Every moment here is the gloaming. Every moment here is the start and end of all I know. Every moment here is every morning and every sunset, every penetration of the darkness by brilliant blue and amber glows. I listen to the echoes as I walk to where you are. My footsteps ring loudly, but the hum, the cries and the songs from the shelves is so much louder by far. I let my fingers trace the books, the albums and feel the noise... I trace each and every box constructed for my trappings and my toys. Each box is different though most could never tell. Remember how I showed you? That night in sweat and flannel. My love, it's stored up here as well. Shining pretty purple finishes, carved with love and bitter runes. Sparkling purple havens, lean in closely and you'll see the stories, listen... and you'll hear the different tunes.

     Ah... this is yours. Do your ghosts tell you of it's glory? I carved it from rosewood. Winding vines and perfect blooms. Perfect in their imperfections.  The perfection we created is here too. There's a petal for every moment. I adorned sunrises and sunsets. I carved this box with love, knowing that is exactly what it would hold. It's the finest, mirror polished purple, with gleaming highlights of amber and blue. Though it contains my greatest wounds and the coldest of my days. It radiates a glow and warmth... from within emanates your haze. It also contains my love. The only box up here of that can claim. How my demons know me well... they keep it polished by the eastern window. Always half in light and shadow. I kneel and lift the lid. Instantly I am screaming. Sobbing at all I miss. I am Jacob yet again. They gather all around me to help me bear the wounds. As your ghosts lash and burn me and fill my mouth and eyes. Gasping for air in the twisted flood. Choking on the memories as I am renewed to all that once was. Wishing I could die. I cannot blur the pain. I can only cry in anguish afraid to call your name.

     Trembling in a shadow, I stare into the light. I had grown accustomed to the anguish, so this bath in flames of you was right. To tear the scars from wounds mal-healed... to bleed them all anew. To ashen my skin and awaken passion, so maybe I can finally decide. It might be the end of me. God knows I've begged to die. Or it might be a start within. I still don't have a clue. You are the keeper of my soul and heart. So I will watch you staring at me through the glass from afar and dumbly pray to hear from you.

     As I descend the staircase slowly, the silence is deafening. It threatens to break down all I have built since you've gone. I see your reflection with every step. Staring up at me... and I long. I ache to hear your voice say my name. I ache to see it written by your hand. That need has never died. Just as my love, it was merely stored away in the darkness, so that I could survive. I ache... My demons are never quiet, but of lately even they've gone taciturn. Always illuminating and inflaming my scars... teaching me the beauty I have earned. This day they waited for me in the attic, to help me find that I have more yet to learn. They are roaming free again... the daily chasing of warmth from your ghosts. Every corner and every shadow filled with you... Every shadow and corner filled with a four letter word... Hope.

     I take a seat on the porch and watch them dance in the gloaming. I drink from a deliciously sinful espresso and don't fight the tears. All of these tears... bleeding everyday from my eyes. They race to collect them and store them in the attic. Alongside visions of porcelain skin, sweat and kisses, hues of blue and amber entwined...I beg you speak my name, or tell me I am dead. I beg your ghosts stop screaming and learn the way you used to touch and heal my head. And from the memory of your eyes I steal reverie. Musing how you could forget it is you who knows me best. You know the soul you hold. You know the heart that you wrest. You have a key and know my attic... you know all that I am. You know my agony and demons... You see them stained upon my skin. You know my gentle kisses... the caresses... you know all within. You win? What a peculiar thing to declare to the man facing his end. I declare to you as always. I love you... This is not how it was supposed to end.....

Author's Note

The end? I don't have a clue. But I don't think so. Whatever form it takes. Have at it.

Reviews

[Scott Metro]

Stamped into you like a branding.
Chains that only get stronger when you linger on the memories..yet the memories give you a brief moment of solace before the madness returns.
Every syllable a testament..
Well done...well expressed.
Scott

[Lucifer Jones]

It is too bad we can't just stay in the reverie, isn't it? Thank you so much friend.

[Scott Metro]

:)
Scott.....

[Lyn Anderson]

Wow. Breathtaking. It is so strange for me, purveyor of the tiny staccato condensed pieces, to read your expanded thoughts upon feelings so similar to my own - the male mirror of my feminine angst. Your stuff really gives me chills. Beautiful.

[Lucifer Jones]

Wow. I am humbled. Thank you so very much.