紫苑

i. 

words came easily today. and there was relief -- an out-of-body kind of pride; the words weren't mine, though they'd come from my mouth

ii.

you can't do anything right you're doing all you can you can't do anything right you are wonderful! keep at it! you can't do anything right thank you for being all you are

iii.

my comrades are falling apart at the seams and here I am stitching together tiny pieces of you and me in any attempt to keep this delusion alive

Anger -- blood boiling, reason fleeting. Red.

"Everybody thinks they're right," you'd said to me. Bitingly cold, I'd felt the frost from your words trickle down my spine.

What affection you'd had for me, the warmth of our memories, was now hellfire in those emerald eyes and it burns like the threat of your chakrams. My skin is on fire; you clutched the matchbook in what only felt like disdain.

Dread -- the sudden flood of anxiety, loss of oxygen. White.

I'd thought of a million things to say but nothing would hold, nothing would escape my mouth or have any hope of reaching you.

Traitor: Xion.

Target: locked.

And I was right -- we both knew, as much as we killed ourselves to believe otherwise. I was the martyr and it was my choice, to go away now.

"Please don't hold back, Axel."

Let it all out -- the prose and the punches.

I'm holding on to a resolve I never wanted.

much like the turnstiles by the subway platform

we perform the same, old; same old

mundane -- tedious

different and yet all too familiar.

six o'clock in the morning gets darker each day but the alarm sound never changes

dawn, a burst of pink; flash of gold

dusk, every color enveloped in darkness

and we are powerless, we are vulnerable to change and we 

accept? deny? > surrender

our dreams lie just beyond the horizon,

but we push the treadmill -- inch by tiny inch

and wake up by the finish line in a contented daze.

"I always knew I'd get here,

I'm getting Xion back on her feet, starting right now. I'm tired, sure. But I've been feeling her words and I haven't been writing them! So, here goes.

Like for a starter. (Let it be known it'll probably be short on my end, to help me get warmed up).

coffee stained patterns in my mug paint your silhouette and a sad excuse for laughter leaves my lips

yours were curled in distaste at the initial contact body language screaming bitter "-- not like that ice-cream we share" but I kept quiet, swallowed the bitter truth that

nothing goes unchanged

and your room reeks of the brine after a day on the beach, the staleness of your absence, and the day-old coffee that shapes the form of your smile next to the seashells I'd leave by your bedside

    // she is the technicolor dream

      for someone who has been exposed to so much darkness         I wonder how her heart still shines as bright enough         to be my north star         to be my sanctuary         to lead me back when I don't know my way         home         no --         home is in the words she laces together         when I've had a bad day.         home is in the plans we make;         the trips we'll take, the makeovers she'll give me.         home is in the piece of her heart with my name on it.

      if she is the dream,         I am the disorientation of waking

       and where roses bud from her lips         mine can only fathom stray weeds

      but she plucks them         weaves a crown of them         lets me wear it         lets me feel like royalty         like I deserve to bask in the light         for more than just a moment

the mason jar of all I am

and as you sit across the table

I trust you not to laugh

as I place it between us

- - -

when I'd met you, you were all smiles -- aquamarine eyes and gloved hands ready to catch me  before I fell

and I'd held onto the possibility of us without even knowing it; without even wanting it. the name of another seared to my tongue

but you were always there, our laughter seeping into my skin no matter how hard I scrubbed I left the smallest traces of you

just in case

- - -

the jar makes a clink as it makes contact with the table

and the words you say to me are made of the sweetest nectar or so they taste as I recite them aloud as if you're here to say them yourself

- - -

weeks go by conversation is sparse; you put on your blindfold and I am left carrying the duty of seeing for two

the jar rattles. threatens to spill over. gravity takes hold and I catch it, just barely the table destroyed at the same hands that once caught me before I fell.

but, you rebuild. try and try to convince me that yes, this is durable. yes, I care.

a blindfold keeps the truth at bay but, it's my choice to believe you.

and when it's good, it's great and I can let myself go and let myself feel let myself pretend you feel for me what I feel for the idea of you