http://decadentiablue.deviantart.com/art/Ripples-21820278
Like a rock dropping to the bottom of your stomach, she came into your life determined. Her hands traced streams like afterglow across your skin. And with each gasping sigh, you were afraid to lose her to the troubles of night. You lay between sheets, painting the universe, mapping out a life. And in each fantasy, you found yourself reshaping the gestures and motions. She was the picture, the combustible, the glory. She held much power in your mind and hers.
But upon rising on that rainy Saturday, you were faced with a stark reality. The ways of the world struck with full force, and somehow she had drowned within the world which you had feared, denied, and fled . Glancing out to the lawn, you notice the puddles accumulating on the lawn. The darkness had seeped into your corner of the world; she was yours no more. The days passed quickly, but you found yourself unable to draw new habits, consumed by thought and at a lack for words. She became the silhouette imprinted in your mind. The sun rose, and you thought of her. The street vendor rang his bell, the sweet scent of cinnamon buns drifted by, and you immediately remembered the time you sat in the small French café lost in conversations of Thoreau and where the penguins sleep in Antarctica. She had worn a yellow dress that day, and coffee spilled down her front. A stain was left across the perfection that was now your obsession. The streetlight cast a shadow across the dew-streaked lawn and again you found yourself, wine bottle in hand, spreading a blanket to protect you from the damp and cold. However this time you were alone. You drove past the old signpost, dangling from its rusted hinges, only to hear the creak it made in the yard the first time you made love. What the signpost would have said, had it known the fate of your world. Months had passed, days bled together. Your mind became the snare, entrapping every last shred of the memory. Those days still felt like water freshly sprinkled across your skin. Countless hours glaring at the accumulating puddles, incessant flood of the streets and fields.
But one thing always struck you as odd; it had never rained when she accompanied you.
Your life was read by a stranger. The manuscripts and artifacts long ago lost, but the story remains. In your mind it is untainted, even simple. You recognize the struggles in the story of a man who loved a woman more than life itself. She could never accept her inability to live beyond herself, and so you were lead down a most troublesome path. You had to watch her mind consume her, until one day she was gone.
Peace
Mandy
