Does It Have To Mean Anything? (thepatchworkfox.com)

Does It Have To Mean Anything?

A black cat walks down a grey street towards a brown house with a red door and a silver doorknob.

Or was it gold?

The cat didn’t notice.

The darkness feels heavy.

Yet darkness is only the absence of light.

Sunlight beats down.

Can you feel its weight too?

Space.

Stumble through a dense forest into a clearing that cradles a glistening lake.

Crystal.

Cold, empty.

Hot, full.

Are you my heart? Am I?

Correlation makes sense out of nonsense, but is that really what we want?

Does it matter what we want?

The glassy-eyed raven doesn’t blink.

Look again.

And again.

Cold, empty.

Follow the winding path, even as it disappears.

Don’t worry about getting lost.

You’re already lost, for now.

Or maybe forever.

Probably just for now though.

Maybe.

Looking back to confirm you’ve left the path, you realise the path was never there.

Don’t run.

Whatever you do, don’t run.

Walk, swim, play, sing, climb, pray, fall.

Stop.

Look around.

Can you see it all?

Can you see at all?

Take off the blinkers and set them down.

Walk away.

Shed a layer, I’ll wear it, though it is heavy as the darkness.

Heavy as the sunlight.

Hot, full.

A dazzling steed or a burdened donkey.

I can always pretend, until I can’t.

Neon camouflage.

Lipstick masks a split lip until they lean in for a kiss.

Flinch.

They didn’t split my lip but their kiss feels like fire, reawakening the pain so carefully layered in scarlet and pride.

Eyes dart wildly, searching for the path.

There is no path.

There was never a path.

Run.

Don’t run.

Run.

Cold, empty.

Stop running.

No one is following you.

Laugh.

Cry.

Laugh again.

Catch your breath, child, the worst is yet to come.

And the best.

Sit. Breathe.

The flames may try to lick your skin but you can extinguish them with a single breath.

At least, that’s what they say.

I try to believe, yet I keep a stock of aloe, just in case.

I count the scars belief has etched on my skin.

Look away.

If you don’t look, it doesn’t exist.

That’s a lie.

But the truth is heavy.

Heavy as the darkness.

Cold, empty.

The black cat meows softly.

The doorknob is gold.

 


 

Does It Have To Mean Anything? (thepatchworkfox.com)

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