June 20th, Year of Silence

My dreams have become vivid and profound, confusing and disturbing. At their most terrifying, they are still much preferred than those that bored me into an early stirring. The dead visit me, and while they reveal nothing, their company is soothing. My aunt Arminda and her warm smile. Virginia without her addictions. Daniel at ease with life.

Summer is soon to arrive, and with it, a heat that melts defenses. Even a steel fortress can collapse. But all of that speaks of love, or the capacity to love. It speaks of an intensity, not a profundity. And didn’t the high king on his golden throne lock my ability to do anything admirable long ago? Didn’t that father of mine put me in the towers, long ago? There are no magpies weathering storms for me. Only rusted nails, ready for a crucifixion I refuse. Only a few choice words that fall flat and dense, on the cracking floor.

I close my eyes for longer than a blink, and call it a good night’s rest.

June 20th, Year of Silence

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