14 Heaven's Not Enough
Tuesday, January 6th, 2015 06:48 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
sisyphus posting in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png){kind=small}
evolutionaryWritten: 01/06/15
Title: Heaven's Not Enough
Words: 292
I imagined a tower held up by three sets of hands. They bickered and swayed but continued to hold it steady. Three sets of hands, stretched out-right, reaching.
Reaching.
But then the hands were broke apart, and you know the song, the verse.
They all fell down.
---
I imagined a tower--brick, and rivet, and lime. It held fast through the ages, but was wearing away. It was waiting, you see, waiting for its purpose, its meaning, to return. So the tower held. So it wore away.
---
I told him of my dream, of the tower in my mind. Nigel stared a moment, then looked away.
“A dream is a dream,” he said to me. “And I don’t have many of those anymore.”
That was because he was wearing away. Because he was draining himself to wait. It was clear to see, effortless to notice, but he would not allow the understanding.
I said nothing and he let it slip away.
---
I imagined a tower, swaying in the wind. Cement and brick crumbled, falling to dust. I told him of my dream--I told him of shadows, of sensations, of impressions. Anything but brick, and rivet, and lime. I told him my concerns, and he thought of a storm. He wondered if something was coming.
Nothing so obvious, my love, my life. The world always ends with a whimper, not a bang, and you will slip away from me without a sound.
---
There was silence in the dark, and I wondered in that night, of what would make you stay with me and what would make you fight. I pressed lips to hair and thought of the dark, of silence, of blindness, of nothing but touch. Nothing but remaining two into one.
Nothing of brick, or rivet, or lime.
[14. brick, and rivet, and lime]
Title: Heaven's Not Enough
Words: 292
I imagined a tower held up by three sets of hands. They bickered and swayed but continued to hold it steady. Three sets of hands, stretched out-right, reaching.
Reaching.
But then the hands were broke apart, and you know the song, the verse.
They all fell down.
---
I imagined a tower--brick, and rivet, and lime. It held fast through the ages, but was wearing away. It was waiting, you see, waiting for its purpose, its meaning, to return. So the tower held. So it wore away.
---
I told him of my dream, of the tower in my mind. Nigel stared a moment, then looked away.
“A dream is a dream,” he said to me. “And I don’t have many of those anymore.”
That was because he was wearing away. Because he was draining himself to wait. It was clear to see, effortless to notice, but he would not allow the understanding.
I said nothing and he let it slip away.
---
I imagined a tower, swaying in the wind. Cement and brick crumbled, falling to dust. I told him of my dream--I told him of shadows, of sensations, of impressions. Anything but brick, and rivet, and lime. I told him my concerns, and he thought of a storm. He wondered if something was coming.
Nothing so obvious, my love, my life. The world always ends with a whimper, not a bang, and you will slip away from me without a sound.
---
There was silence in the dark, and I wondered in that night, of what would make you stay with me and what would make you fight. I pressed lips to hair and thought of the dark, of silence, of blindness, of nothing but touch. Nothing but remaining two into one.
Nothing of brick, or rivet, or lime.
[14. brick, and rivet, and lime]
