I had a dream he had grey hair.
Approached the door; Knocked; Respectable; Falsified. Hiding behind his written words, the ones escaping into the air will never compare to their calibre.
Just like his. Just like mine.
We knew he with the small frame and closed heart would not be it either. We knew he with the big arms and strong voice would not be it either. Change for them. It’s easier. To run behind and catch their drift, just breeze. Never really stopping to think what part of this is actually true. Why am I here with you?
Those clouds seem a little too out of reach for someone that refuses to jump. Only ever contemplating the possibility of their nature against the skin snapping over your fingertips. Because you refuse to leave the earth without the certainty of your survival but baby that’s where the magic happens.
That is where the complete and utter horrific failure happens and you die. You loose your mind and then you find a new one. You loose him and you find a new one. You loose him and you find a new one. You loose you and you find a new you. Everyday in every moment loose yourself.
She said he had grey hair, yes I said that too.
But the colour no longer matters it is that each follicle was wrong. Genetically coded to a different head that wasn’t mine. The mistakes are hidden in plain sight that only someone who dares to look closer could see. His grey hair looks fine to everyone else. It is not about the hair but it always has been. It could only ever be.
It was the first reason and now the only. That I can no longer see them without seeing you; seeing you and then fuck you. Another mistake because the genetics finally matched, but this was before we learnt that the genes were a game that we had won; the one game that was unwinnable.
If you’re confused that’s good because now you understand. Now you no longer see this for words on a screen or on a piece of paper but for the universal entities they are precise fragments of my mind.
Exact, workings and processes, loops and dead ends. Running in and out and around and back, learning and relearning because his hair was always the cause and effect. That he was unlike any other. That he wasn’t even himself. To the deepest and innermost part of himself that wasn’t him.
The game was a test we were supposed to work together not against. Did you not read the rules because I didn’t either but that’s your fault. Because it was my game and you stole all the pieces and now I just stare at the board trying to figure out how to keep playing.
White dreams. What’s different.
Another broken girl fearing the world.
What’s your next move?