"I created you."
His back was turned towards me, his voice both conversational and shy.
My hand touched my throat. My mind touched a million scattered experiences that have conspired to form this version of me standing here, listening, forgetting to breathe.
He waited for a response I could not articulate, and then he continued. Other offered words - descriptors offered as definition - dreams given life by air moved across the room to enter into me.
I fell to a crouch, hands raised to his warmth. Oh, if he were to turn, to see me wanting to believe, my heart might shatter for its last time.
Through the prism of my eyes I saw him starting slowly to turn..
..And darkness falls.
I am frozen, a statue, a forgotten fantasy left in the greying of a vanishing dawn.
what next, my heart?
Do I step away, join the others, the forgotten dreams and playmates, the fantasies of monsters under the bed?
Do I stay, keeping faith?
o tell me what to do
There is a spiderweb of cracks across the surface of me. I touch them like a rosary, whispering prayers to every line. Shattered, not broken. Not yet. Created, real, still unclaimed. Not yet.
I fold into myself.
undone and waiting
And when there is nothing but stillness and night, when I have accepted and curled around this shining bit of light, when I have silently rewoven a semblance of sight...
There is a whisper of a knock at the door.
There is fragile promise of spring.
There is you.
o my heart
There stands you.