Dust rises from his steps where he is.
Slamming door, cracking wood. Unnoticed.
Smoke rises to the ceiling and creeps along the walls. People dwell here-
where he is.
Minds flit from thought to thought, never lingering for long, never delving too deep.
Everything here is gentle. The body contact, the words, the sounds…
a room filled with smoke and no intentions, with nothing deeper than the skin on their bodies.
And as his mind is gently rolling over thoughts, stopping for a moment to consider each picture in his head-
he thinks of me.
For a brief moment I can feel his mind scanning my eyes, drifting over my body… not too deep.
Sounds blare, lights flash. Where I am. Aware.
I’m aware of everything and everyone needing me, even within these walls. There is need with the clutter, with the wind howling nearby.
My emotional mind clashes with the night. It fights against the calm, argues with reason.
The air is heavy. So heavy.
Pain reminds me of more pain.
And I think of him. I think of where he is.
I notice everything. And I wish he could be here.
Bring the calm. Bring the smoke. Bring your heart.