Which One of You

I have to keep working on this one it's not finished yet rough draft

Something keeps me awake until the morning, and something keeps me awake until the night. I wonder- if the less people you know while you're alive, the less time you've got to spend sandwiched between earth and the atmosphere in purgatory?Purgatory, as in- trauma timestamp or an unfinished story that needed completion and never met anything close to it. Sometimes you might not know you've passed from the physical dimension to the next, and nothing makes sense. I don't know. I've never actually died before, right? 

There is a soul I met here - one of the most vivacious human beings, put this way by some obvious stars, relentlessly throwing emotion into the skies and dazzling my mind with sentences that only pass among my fingertips during some serious meditative psychosis. (Others call it love.)
This soul in particular had the wings of every bird you could imagine. She flew almost freely through the liquid realities of time and space, as if she were one luminescent dagger of beauty not even needing to cut anyone to part the seas of creation. She lives within everything she ever loved. She commanded nature alongside me, guiding the empty space between our collarbones and her dainty wrists- focusing that energy into an algorithmic memory, so when we cast it upon the sky (or the camera) galaxies developed light-years away from us, where our shared imagination guides all principles of life. 
Anyway, there was a power outage this morning. I awoke to the sound of frazzled alarms and various technology, who were apparently terrified to glitches of the incoming thunderstorm. I rolled over on the poor loveseat upon which I had ended the night's journey, and looked with dismay into the pitch black bowels of my living room. The darkness left not even an etch of furniture nor walls, and my dehydration hallucinations had begun to take advantage of the situation. Quick, sharp lightning opened a brief and slightly demented window into the actual settings of the house, and I fumbled for my cell phone in the grace of nature's strobe lights. 

Having woken from a lucid dream, I challenged the reality of what I was going through. I had recently been hoping for a power outage during my daytime wakefulness, for the reason purely that I demanded it from Space. Regardless of the precise timing, I went through my usual self-questionnaire and calmed myself with logic as I sleepily pulled myself into an upright position. Grabbing a nearby lighter, I paced slowly and unnecessarily stealthily through the stale hallway to grab some candles. Somehow, candles were abundant here. 
Through phone light, I reached for a bottom cabinet between dishwasher and stove architecture, and knelt down to find something easy to light- I was far too tired for any wax antics. The woman next to me began crankily opposing my decided autumn-themed candles. She was upset because her mother wouldn't want me to burn the entire house down. I continued my auto-questionnaire. 

I had always known exactly what I'd do in a house fire, or a tornado, or if someone fainted at the wheel, and other terrifying realities. Surprisingly, I could perform very well under stress- I'd been given a lot of opportunity to practice as a sheltered, naive youth. The interactive and tangible public proved to be well-advanced over anything a catholic workbook or biology pop quiz could prepare one for, and I was taught thoroughly by the street. 
As I continued my self-reflection on emergency preparedness and partying, I successfully lit three candles. It had been thundering very often, very loudly - actually shaking the house foundation - but not loud enough for me to ignore the placebo ghosts I had been leering at. My time had recently felt best spent ignoring the present, and I wasn't about to start just because lightning might strike someone's house and I was the only one who could prevent it by happening if I just focused hard enough. 
"Do I have extrasensory abilities? No. I do not. I am just paranoid." I replayed my questions while I slipped back under the too-small blanket I had fixed upon that tragic little loveseat. With candles dabbing the tips of the walls, I sunk back into my sagging nest of pillows and begged again for sleep, ignoring the still-consistent lightning and throaty rumbling in the outside air. 

I wondered if that soul I met long ago was thinking about the rain. I wondered if she liked this kind of storm, or if she felt angry. I wonder if she had anything to do with it at all. I looked at her big eyes behind my own, and fell back into the delta waves of my own brainstorm.