Don't you wish you lived through this weekend with me? Oh, it made me more than I was before. Less than three days we were there, on that famous Massachusetts Cape. I'll be honest, it did more for my soul than Ireland could ever hope to do, even with its fairies and sad shining eyes. I learned so much, and so much about how little I know. Mostly, I felt at peace. But was it only a short runaway?
Perfection is a flighty companion, and only arises when there are echoes between people. Ah, those echoes die out in rocks of people's hearts eventually. Don't they? Sometimes the sounds are discordant, and sometimes they're moonlight when it hits the water and ripples in time with the movement of the seabed.
We sat on the rocks, the ocean growling at us, pretending to be tough, but always going back out with froth at its mouth. We sat and talked, arms wrapped, honesty flayed open like a finally-captured beast. You're never quite sure if the beast is ever truly dead, though. I think death might be the most obvious sign of life. The killing brings out blood, it brings out out the lights of frightened eyes, and it expires into the air. Make it quick Baby, I'm thirsty for this chase to finish. Baby, please, I just want a quick end to this echo-dance, don't make the whites of my eyes show as I wait for the knife. If you kill me, I'll kill you, Love, I promise.
I got shot dead and still dragged my body to the next ambush site, so green and sheltered and small. I'm waiting, ears pricked and muscles twitching, for the next echo, the next moment when all doubt is gone and I know I'm dead, foreign perfect death in my ribs. Ah, life- the waiting game, only won when you give your own.
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