breathless
We do not dare to glimpse inside those curtains. Somehow, they hold all and everything within. They provide such an impermeable layer of protection that it is impossible to pass. Their dusty sheen reflects a disturbingly polluted mirror of haze around; an image of which no-one would ever wish to polish. Lazily self-laquered.
A voyage further…pushing the curtains to one side would not simply suffice. A quick glimpse of the posessions and history contained within, serves a small reminder (to the needles which inject us with the traumas of life), that any time spent on this world is simply temporary. Any people we meet are simply transitory. Any feeling we may have, will pass or change in meaning. And the inexorable mantra that “We must make as much of it as we can”. It is imperative that our time is spent wisely, as we never know exactly when it may fall away.
Like the delicate fronds of fern swaying in the breezes of a woodland glade, we are carried by the articulation of a natural whisper, our frond forever dancing with, yet at the mercy of, its discordant, erratic accomplice. Ferns in the drizzle of time, eternally and gracefully falling.
But were one to peek through a curtain by accident and be so enthralled by the elements and essences contained within, how easy would it be to depart and not wish to look further?
Wrenching. Drawn. Closed. Opened. Compressed between those material layers of cloaks, screens, curtains. Not knowing whether to dive for the depths, or break for the surface.
[wishing to dive, oh. but in need of oxygen.]
take that thought, and run.
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