Emily Ann Imes (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
memorialrainbow) wrote2014-05-13 11:29 pm
memorialrainbow) wrote2014-05-13 11:29 pm
Entry tags:
051314 -- Coming Home, Part III
Coming Home, Part III
a really really really creative nonfiction
I don't know what attracted me to it. I just...I just know it's supposed to be important.
You don't remember before. To you, there is no before.
All you remember is the here and now, this town with the strange buildings, the millions of people who don't see you, and him. You remember him more than anybody else, because even though he wasn't the first one here, he was the first to break you out of your shell, to make you appreciate the world you lived in. There were others -- are others -- but he's the first to really understand you.
He's your brother. You two are happy together. Until you're not.
That July day rips into your memory, shatters you, turns you into something you're not. You have already felt under the weather by circumstances you think you'll never understand, but the next thing you know, the world is white. Everybody is after you, and the only option you have is to run. And so you do, and you're blind, and you run to the last hiding place you thought you would have ever resorted to.
And when you wake up, you no longer remember who you are.
If you did, of course I'd say yes. We have great chemistry.
You have strange dreams. They're mostly of the land you used to know, but now all of that is a memory. You don't know who you are now, but you fold yourself into the memories you're making. There are trees. Schools. Amusement parks. Days pass into weeks into months. You learn how to cooperate with parents and siblings and lots and lots of cats.
The months pass by into years. One day, you find your way to the shore, and even though you can't properly hear, memories still flash into your mind. If you close your eyes and think about it enough, you swear you hear whispers telling of a boy and a girl, destined to escape this shore together. Except, in your mind's eye, you see it as two girls. That's how you've always seen things, anyway.
You never imagine she'll find you. Until she does.
I've never had anybody say that to me before. How could I not want to be part of something so fantastic, so fabulous, something that feels so right?
For the first time, there is a diversion. You want to talk. You want to know. You know what she speaks of is the truth. You finally -- finally! -- get an avenue to talk with her, and for five beautiful nights, it's blissful. There's something inside of you that tells you all of this is wrong, but you also understand that there is truth in what she says. She weaves fire, and you feel yourself melt against her as she pins you to the wall, presses her lips against yours.
It's then that you start to remember just who you are, the cold that never bothered you anyway, the truth inside your heart.
And then, you're at a crossroads. You feel yourself being pulled somewhere you don't want to go. You know it's wrong. You fight it. You scream. And you realize -- you're not her. You lose your grip. You think you should be falling, but no, you're flying -- up and up and above the clouds and in what looks like snow, all stark white, around your face and swallowing you whole until you are the snow, you are the cold, and there is no limit to where it ends and you begin.
You forget everything except her, the fire you need to survive. It is some time. You lose all hope. And then, there is a whisper of a word on the wind, and you solidify, and there she is, and you connect and there is you and her and that's all there ever was to begin with.
She's my northern star, my Magnum card. It's what I said before when I was her, and what I want to stay true to. I want to stay true to her. Let the world know it. I'm sorry it caused so much doubt, and I'm sorry to the person I used to be. But it's the truth. I love her.
You're recovering. She's given you a place to write. It was something you loved to do before. You write this time, though, to find out and remember who you are. It's one step at a time. She's asked you if you want to go home. You reply by insisting you are home. She's your reason for existing.
Your brother asked you the same question. You only cried in his arms and said yes, at some point, you would be home. But all good things come to an end. All people grow up and move out of the house someday.
She is recovering, as well. She has trouble reconciling who you used to be with who you are now. You do what you can, remind her that the words said, the actions were yours and yours alone. Someday, she'll let you show her. For now, you are with her. You've come home, finally, after all of this time, and now, the solstice can finally begin.
For fire and ice, there is no ending, but only the start of something new and beautiful.
And there is nothing invasive or spongy about it.
a really really really creative nonfiction
I don't know what attracted me to it. I just...I just know it's supposed to be important.
You don't remember before. To you, there is no before.
All you remember is the here and now, this town with the strange buildings, the millions of people who don't see you, and him. You remember him more than anybody else, because even though he wasn't the first one here, he was the first to break you out of your shell, to make you appreciate the world you lived in. There were others -- are others -- but he's the first to really understand you.
He's your brother. You two are happy together. Until you're not.
That July day rips into your memory, shatters you, turns you into something you're not. You have already felt under the weather by circumstances you think you'll never understand, but the next thing you know, the world is white. Everybody is after you, and the only option you have is to run. And so you do, and you're blind, and you run to the last hiding place you thought you would have ever resorted to.
And when you wake up, you no longer remember who you are.
If you did, of course I'd say yes. We have great chemistry.
You have strange dreams. They're mostly of the land you used to know, but now all of that is a memory. You don't know who you are now, but you fold yourself into the memories you're making. There are trees. Schools. Amusement parks. Days pass into weeks into months. You learn how to cooperate with parents and siblings and lots and lots of cats.
The months pass by into years. One day, you find your way to the shore, and even though you can't properly hear, memories still flash into your mind. If you close your eyes and think about it enough, you swear you hear whispers telling of a boy and a girl, destined to escape this shore together. Except, in your mind's eye, you see it as two girls. That's how you've always seen things, anyway.
You never imagine she'll find you. Until she does.
I've never had anybody say that to me before. How could I not want to be part of something so fantastic, so fabulous, something that feels so right?
For the first time, there is a diversion. You want to talk. You want to know. You know what she speaks of is the truth. You finally -- finally! -- get an avenue to talk with her, and for five beautiful nights, it's blissful. There's something inside of you that tells you all of this is wrong, but you also understand that there is truth in what she says. She weaves fire, and you feel yourself melt against her as she pins you to the wall, presses her lips against yours.
It's then that you start to remember just who you are, the cold that never bothered you anyway, the truth inside your heart.
And then, you're at a crossroads. You feel yourself being pulled somewhere you don't want to go. You know it's wrong. You fight it. You scream. And you realize -- you're not her. You lose your grip. You think you should be falling, but no, you're flying -- up and up and above the clouds and in what looks like snow, all stark white, around your face and swallowing you whole until you are the snow, you are the cold, and there is no limit to where it ends and you begin.
You forget everything except her, the fire you need to survive. It is some time. You lose all hope. And then, there is a whisper of a word on the wind, and you solidify, and there she is, and you connect and there is you and her and that's all there ever was to begin with.
She's my northern star, my Magnum card. It's what I said before when I was her, and what I want to stay true to. I want to stay true to her. Let the world know it. I'm sorry it caused so much doubt, and I'm sorry to the person I used to be. But it's the truth. I love her.
You're recovering. She's given you a place to write. It was something you loved to do before. You write this time, though, to find out and remember who you are. It's one step at a time. She's asked you if you want to go home. You reply by insisting you are home. She's your reason for existing.
Your brother asked you the same question. You only cried in his arms and said yes, at some point, you would be home. But all good things come to an end. All people grow up and move out of the house someday.
She is recovering, as well. She has trouble reconciling who you used to be with who you are now. You do what you can, remind her that the words said, the actions were yours and yours alone. Someday, she'll let you show her. For now, you are with her. You've come home, finally, after all of this time, and now, the solstice can finally begin.
For fire and ice, there is no ending, but only the start of something new and beautiful.
And there is nothing invasive or spongy about it.