oikage

him

i dream of a palace. i know it's a dream the second i open my eyes and watch the sun go down, lazy, over the huge green ground. it must be the morning after a rainy night, because the grass under my bare feet has that elastic and rubbery look typical of damp earth. an eternal morning, the fruit of an imaginary, non-existent past. there is not a single cloud in the sky, but the light is not blinding, and the air smells purely of nature and dew, as if it had been washed by hand in cold water recently. as if the dawn's gentle pink fingers had taken care to check the entire atmosphere for spots and then get rid of them.

there he is in the shadow. there was something about him who made my heart aches. whenever i come to him, i find that he is silent. sitting quietly in the corner of a black-velvet room, dresses in gray and silver; often he is full of life and emits a glimmer no other quiet guy has ever been able to. sometimes he frightens me, all clouded eyes and shadows.

i don't remember him but i have loved him deeply. too deeply. deep as the black of night. my love for his lives in the hidden underwater caves of my soul. that is why i cannot write of him, of my adoration. not even when he is full, overflowing with silver, not even then do i have the words.