Door closed. This door is a wall and I do not pass through it. I am not the ghost I thought I was. Or you know magic I did not expect. Ways to repel, to keep me back. I stare from the threshold of the house and wonder why you keep me out. Am I a demon? No, but a harmless ghost with pale skin and eyes the color of a storm-ridden sky.
Flicker of a spit of fire, shifting yellow light against a dusty brown incense stick. The flame blows out, but still, the tip glows orange-red. Amber scented smoke in my eyes and words stuck in my chest. Lumps of meaning I cannot express. Sentences that express nothing at all.
I wander through 意味 (meaning) and 体制 (structure), lost.
We two live merely doors apart, but these lives have ages between them. Worlds spent in other times. I can see your face sometimes, but never your mind. I look from a barricaded distance and glimpse images of what loving you might be like. You live, dance, sing in a light my eyes dilate against. Your body, the vessel of confusion. Your voice, the siren’s call crashing me against the rocks.
Alone, enshrined in failed attempts, I am ever cast in your shadow. An isolated drop of fresh water in an ocean of salt. A particle of dust in clean air. Dead cells to be blown away on a wind headed somewhere else. In this state, I cannot reach up or out. I only drift.
I know the key to change, but cannot forge it. I have no physical existence until we touch. I am caught in the updraft, reaching, reaching.
Will you reach back?
The moment you do — we connect.
You have nothing to lose, nothing to fear from me. I have no desire to change you, but to know. To see. To love.To grow into you.
Graph me to your skin and let’s see what we can make. Here is my arm, my blood, my heart.