TIA PRICE TAROT

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Attempted mini play.

Posted by Tia Price on February 1, 2014 at 12:40 AM Comments comments (0)


 

Two people in a room, static. Silence for the first minute or so. One reads, the other stares blankly ahead, clearly thinking over something. The feel of the scene is that of two people who have lived in this space for some time but perhaps have lost sight of one another.

 

Woman: ( putting down book and walking to back of wall) do you want a cup of tea?

Male: ....( not looking away from space ahead) hmmm.

Woman: ( whilst leaning on back counter as kettle boils)you know, that story is so interesting. They're in India now, and the girl is finding herself in this temple with a swammy, and she's going through all these layers that she didn't know were there. This guiding gentle Indian man just holds her hand as she brings up all this old stuff. Working through her childhood ya know, and digging up memories. It sounds so exotic and lovely. It's really deep....

Male:.... Mm. Yeah. Sounds good.

Female: .....and she's finding all these memories about herself come up, things she used to do, that she forgot. That she was brave enough to do. Loves she had, and her whole body courses with those feelings and she remembers. It's amazing. And the setting is so, so, foriegn and intoxicating. And so calm around her as all that she let settle on top of her just, fall away.

Male: ( snorts)

Female:....( stirring in milk)... It makes me want to visit a place like that. And wear beads and linen and lay on the beach in Goa and look at their wild birds that'd be so different and beautiful and find that peace. It sounds so beautiful. Just to be still and feel sand between your toes. Away from this grey stuff, ya know.

Male: ( seeming to wake up) pfft. sand between your toes? thatd get on my nerves. ... we've got mortgage payments. And what do you need to look inside for, there's sometimes too much stuff that its better just to ignore it. And you can find peace here instead of going off to god knows where and prancing about.

Female( clearly hurt): yeah....

Male: I have to go to the club in a bit, new shipment and I've just been working out we don't have enough staff so muggins here is gonna have to do it. Ill only be a few, and you'll do dinner in the meantime right?

Female: yes.

Male: ( walking to her and putting his arms around her waist) seeing he has perhaps dashed a dream) look, once everything is clear and we've sorted money we can try for a family, eh? You've been saying about a baby for a while now. That'll make you happy wont it?

Female: ( still in India) yes. Yes it would.

Male: ( reaching for tea and drinking it too fast) ooh, that's hot. Be back in a few. ( kisses cheek) liver n' bacon right?

Female: yeah it'll be ready for you.

( she sits down, looking at the book cover as the door slams. There is silence for a beat or two. She picks up her phone, eyes dart to the door, as she seems to think something over. She scrolls through a little, looks back to the door and then calls someone.

 

Female: hi, erm... Hey it's me.

Voice on other line.

Female: ( laughs) yes you did. I was wondering, erm, well. I've got a bit of time now if you still want to have that chat? I know I said no, but... ( eyes look to book).... Friends is friends isn't it?

Voice on other line.

Female: you remember still?...Yeah ages, Alex just moved in with me so...... ( response) ok. ....Well, ill make you a cuppa like you like it. ( laughs)

Ok. Great. You too. Bye...L.....

 

She hangs up and a smile is frozen on her face. She looks at the phone lost in her own world. Then worry seems to cross her face. So she stands and starts to rearrange pillows....puts the kettle on again. She is restless.

She picks up the phone again, motions as if to call. Then smiles and puts it down.

 

There is a knock at the door.

 

Female: what? ( opens the door) that was quick?

A young and attractive man enters the room

Male 2: yeah I was literally down the road. Not much changes does it. I mean, ever! ( they laugh and he pulls her into a hug) how are you Rose? ( there is love in his eyes which do not meet hers)

Female: ( flustered she pulls away. A good few feet. Seeming to avoid his eyes ) oh, I'm ok. Alex is busy at work and im still tryin to work out what i want do. hes always so busy and he takes it really seriously. i wish i were like that. we're going to start a family soon... maybe....which will be nice because ive always been told id be a good mum... but, you know. ( Nervous laugh) But I'm reading this amazing book and its just inspired me you know... I thought you'd understand as that's what you've done, kinda ( laughs nervously)

Male: oh? It's about travel? ( She nods) Awesome, yeah I've done a little. Well, a lot. ( laughs)since....( struggles to look at her)

Female: ...yeah ...well, it's set in India and there's just, oh it just sounds so beautiful. This girl is unhappy with life in Ireland and so goes away and the whole thing it just, it just speaks to me. She unfolds and becomes more of who she really is because she meets this guy ( quick glance upwards) and he's on the same path and they just get each other, you know. Just understand each other( sheepish look) . Anyway, tea? Yeah.

Male....( smiling) Please...

Female: ( goes to counter, flicks the switch and pours away remnants of undrunk tea)erm... Kettles on but I have to go to the loo.... Ill be back...oh, wait... That's the book there....sorry.

Male: ( sitting down thoughtful seems to take in the room. sighs. looks at the book he was shown and smiles to himself, the sadness and he looks to where she she left. he puts it down. sits back. crosses legs. for a beat. uncrosses legs. stands and removes coat... Sits again and seeming to deflate speaks)

oh Rosie....

If i were to lift my eyes up to meet yours, would i find love there?

Would i see reflected back to me the deeper feelings that roil and broil beneath this surface?

And if i did, would you see me, hidden beneath this undergrowth that camoufages, hides and protects me. Secretes me away from your powerful gaze where i am small and inconsequential, i think.

Would i see love in the dilation of your pupils?

Would i see love in the glint of light on your iris?

Would i see love in the flutter of your many lashes, beating like a butterflies wing from the edge of your beautiful eye?

Would i see myself measured and judged, redeemed, would i see myself or just more of you?

What would i see? Would it be worse than this not knowing, the questions and the yearning?

Would i find love if i looked you back, ensured that on this occaision you saw me watching. Noticed my gaze that falls and difts across your back like a latent moon beam.

Loving you.

Wanting you.

Desiring only to be near you so i can, watch you and wonder if what i would see there in your deeper self would sate this love of my own. So i could fall into your eyes and you would cradle me there, hold me there in a poetic symbiosis where i am lost to all but you.

It is safer to wonder and hide.

It is safer not to know.

There can be no ending then.

So i watch only when you do not see, i shy my gaze when you feel the heat of my eyes to turn.

I measure and control and withold.

And deny myself...

 

Female:.... I'm back.

Male: ( looks up) great. Yeah.

Female: I know we said we wouldn't talk about it Sam, but. Look...

Male: its ok.

Female: but I want to..

Male: really its fine.

Female.....ok.

( awkward pause)

Female: oh! The tea!

( she goes to the counter and makes two cups. He look at her back with love)

 

Female. There.... As you like it.

Male: you are the only person who can make it you know. It's such a small thing but. It's lovely.

Female: Sam....

Male: its ok Rosie. We didn't have our time. You're with Alex and I'm travelling, this is just a stop gap before Belgrade, I've got an amazing opportunity with an agency there...

Female: oh... That's, that's great Sam. That's great.

Male: when i saw you on facebook i thought it cant hurt, and anyway we said we'd be friends years ago, so thats awesome....and hey, you're starting a family now. So its great isn't it? ( sadness in his eyes)

Female: yeah. It's just, that. Yeah.

( silence... They look at each other as her phone begins to ring)

Female: oh..... Sorry.... (Reaches for mobile) Alex...... ( seems to hesitate then smiles sheepishly as she say) hey Al.... What? Oh. Oh ok. No I haven't started it yet........no I will. Half an hour? Yeah that's enough time. Ok.... Sorry Alex I just ( looks to Sam) ....got so into my book. ..haha, yeah sandy toes. Ill start it now. Ok. Bye. You too. ( pause as she hangs up) sorry Sam, I guess I need to get on, Alex will be home soon, they've managed to find some people short notice... So I need to make his dinner.... It's liver and bacon, I hate it, because I don't eat meat... Yeah, still. And he'll need his shirts done for the morning so... I'm sorry ( genuine and an unsaid appeal in her voice).

Male. Hey, it's ok, you've got to do domestics sometimes and you'll need to get used to that when you have a baby. You'll have beautiful kids, if their anything like their mum. Anyway, erm I fly out tomorrow at twelve, but if you want to have a coffee at the airport, it'd be... Well it'd be nice. You have my number so...

Female: I'd love to, but, ill have to see, Alex needs me to go to see his mum and the financial advisor tomorrow and he will probably want I done early. But, I would love to, if I can.

( they both know that they won't see each other again)

Male: ok, well you have my number so. Please don't lose touch Rosie, I.... Well I miss you....

( they embrace. She sees him to the door. They look at each other, smile and the goodbye goes unsaid)

Female: you don't know how much I miss you too. Everyday I wish I could undo what was done. Undo what was said and how it ended. It hadn't even started so how could it end.

Why did it have to end?

When I look at you I can feel everything flow up to the surface and I have to stuff it all down because I'm trying so hard to function day to day and busy myself with everything else that stops me seeing you, loving you, missing you.

Wanting to be with you, and only you when I can't because you're so lovely and capable and powerful and beautiful and can have anything and everything you want and you are and you're doing and you're amazing and I wish so much that I could be part of it.

Be beside you and be that warmth that holds you when you need it and even when you don't. Make you breakfast, wash your clothes, wash your hair. Rub your back and love you love you love you.

Be all you need.

....be everything you need me to be so that every part of your life is more than perfect. More than any person could ever deserve. But you do.

You're the love I never had but held for a moment.

A moment that wasn't long enough.

And I wish you could be the man wearing linen beside me as we walk along a beach in Goa and look at birds of paradise together. But even not, even if we were here. Or in a dirty Camden bedist...You would be my paradise. As cliche as it is.

I miss you Sam. More than you could ever realise.

I love you. More than I can feel.

And my life hasn't started, because you can't be in it.

( she stops, tries to shake heels. She stands and spreads her hands down her knees shaking the feelings away)

Ha, I'd better get on with that dinner. Alex will be home soon. He needs me.

( goes to the back counter and pulls out meats)

Yeah... He needs me.

 

 

Other people's business.

Posted by Tia Price on October 23, 2013 at 9:35 AM Comments comments (0)

I am a very very busy business man, always thinking of business.

I think of what I can improve and how we can do more business things with global business. More business.

I'm irreplaceable, because I think in business.

I talk with Tokyo in the morning and Texas at lunch. I know too much about my job and so I can't be replaced. I am very important.

I am a very busy man.

The only time I relax is for the extra hour I stay on in the office, every Tuesday and Thursday. I lose myself in Fiona and her tight pencil skirt and the plush pink folds hidden underneath.

She's a very smart girl, Fiona, really going places. She's been promoted, thanks to me and my knowledge of business and once the merger happens we won't be doing this.

Yes, of course I'm married. A good old girl, respects my need for time. She was taut like Fiona once, in our early days. She was daring and silly. She had dreams and she supported me, she's loyal. She got me here. She'll never leave, I earn too much.

And this is where I am now, indespensible, a very busy business man.


 

I am the secretary.

I studied at Cambridge.

I know the old boy network of old because my father plumbed it dry.

Im not stupid and I know what I'm doing.

I wore tight clothes to get his attention and so what if I let the old pompous goat fuck me two nights a week, from next Monday ill be in my own office and he'll be out the door. Of course he doesn't know that.

A girls gotta have tricks up her sleeve.

I've got a beautiful oak desk, shined to perfection and one of those gorgeous crystal paperweights. I cannot wait to share my ideas on the second merger, our new expansion outfit in the Middle East and how to boost our public profile.

I've shown what I can do to all the members of the board, but it took his signature of release, so I let him fuck me. Is only an hour after work two nights a week, like overtime in this corporate world. 

And David doesn't have to know,

It's his wife I feel sorry for, really.

Still, there's a letter detailing it all which will arrive next Monday.

I sometimes sit in my office when everyone's gone. My office, it just sounds right.

Ill make daddy proud yet.

I'll be a very busy business woman.


 

I'm a mother.

So, Austin has been studying in Harvard. We were delighted when he received the scholarship, he's met a girl and I think this might be the one. Penny o'hara, good connections, terribly pretty and loves riding.

Thilda meanwhile persists in seeing that waif like artist, living in Camden. She's studying at RADA. The boards have never been trod by such lovely feet.

My children are my world.

To think I wanted to be a lawyer and see the world from those cold and disconnected eyes.

I could have, I gained a first at Oxford where I met my husband, but he secured the job of a lifetime and well, I fell pregnant shortly after.

I wouldn't change it, no, not now.

However, I know he's banging his secretary. I'm not blind and he thinks he's clever.

I never checked receipts I never looked for it.

But it's there in the misty lusty Sheen of his bloodshot eye when he mentions her.

He thinks I don't see it, but I recognise it.

It used to happen when he looked at me. Still, I understand his need for release.

Perhaps it'll stop after the merger, I don't know. Once the children are settled I'll leave. There'll be no reason to stay.

He's a very busy business man.

 

 

 

The prowling dog.

Posted by Tia Price on October 19, 2013 at 2:55 PM Comments comments (0)

Throughout my life I have been something of an oddity, on the social margins, but early on I got quite ok with that. It took time, but I accepted when it came to the Everyman, I was not the everywoman. I was different.

Often labelled weird, or mad. The less kind, a bit of a freak.

But I got quite used to it, the silences on my presence and the feeling of being not quite welcome. That was mostly however, a long time ago.

I learnt to cultivate myself in using my quirkiness to make friends and sense when it would be accepted, wanted or not. To know if these were would be peers or if these were the silencers and excluders. I learnt not to care so much after a period of active self exclusion.

Later in life, I realised that it was perhaps my ability to see deeper, pick up on things and see too much that people found uncomfortable. To be myself and not care too much what someone thought, but as I say that took time.

A natural witchy type person, I realised that social acceptance was not on the cards and I now seek peace from the Everyman. Gladly welcome an exclusion at times.

I know those I can make laugh, I know those that are true friends, and I know those who will not accept me.

Because I can and do see more, I have now the reverse problem sometimes, that my aloofness and difference makes me wanted. My quirkiness and oddness makes me a commodity now that society has changed a little and the playground is bigger with different hidey holes.

Bullying and exclusion still happen and I have been guilty of it. Corralling and ostracising is an awful thing to experience and I know first hand what it feels like to be on the recieving end. It's funny how even as adults with louder mouthes that others listen to, it continues in a different way.

And that is sad.

Not for me, because I like my space on the margins outside one place and halfway in another that is different and more fun.

It's sad for the people that feel the need to do it, to feel big and tough. To feel righteous. So little they need to parade and try to weaken. Act a little like a dog pissing on an invisible hydrant to feel secure and weaken others scent.

But you can't weaken someone like me. It's old hat to me.

Because I rather like me.

And I see right through you.

 

Tapes.

Posted by Tia Price on October 14, 2013 at 8:40 AM Comments comments (0)

So I hear they're bringing tapes back.

Hipsters have decreed that Walkmans are a ok again. That its cool to use those free headphones - that never sit on your head right- from the airlines with your dodgy dated eighties-o-Rama tape chewing Walkman.

I loved tapes.

My first tape was Jason Donavans album, and I remember singing along in my mums car on the way to go food shopping on Saturdays. I remember a cranberries tape I bought later which I marvelled was bright yellow. And my Annie Lennox medusa tape where I stashed cigarettes inside around the age of eleven when visiting my friend in Cambridge. Annie's Carnival headress on the paper insert cover will always remind me of secret smoking in the park by the graveyard.

I saw some school kids the other day, ripping out that long thin inside that made the music play through gods knows what means. They were pulling it out and winding it around each other, trapping their friends with the the plastic material and I wondered where they could've got it? Raiding their parents beloved old collection of dodgy bad quality listening material. It made me a little sad.

As the film High fidelity goes into great detail about, the making of a mix tape is an art that I never quite managed. I only got round to making friends mix CDs.

My friend Mike however, he made me a few mix tapes, and he did it with style and finesse ( he's a Leo and a music snob so I'd expect nothing less) attaching to the tapes a sheet of paper listing each song and its relevance, why he put it on and why he loved it. Each song was printed in different colour, another lovely personal touch.

I loved Mikes tapes, and I listened to them repeatedly. I even, mistakenly believed that he was the artist behind a Radiohead song ( 'thinking about you') which he chose not to correct me on. And because of his music tastes being so eclectic and different to my own I encountered more music and experienced different things through his choices for me.

Through these lovely plastic cartons Mike was giving me a little bit of poetry and a little part of his heart. Telling me something through someone else's words. I listened everyday whilst sat in my grotty and well loved kitchen at uni, chain smoking and sucking down black coffee.

He graduated to mix CDs eventually, and now he just brings his hard drive to pump my laptop full, somehow denying the selective loveliness and artfulness that came with his lovely tapes.

But, I guess we were teenagers then.

He sends me a book every two weeks now for my little boy to which he is godfather. We have a lovely relationship through post and email but maybe one day, should tapes make it back into popular consciousness again, maybe I can hope to find a new mix tape for me one morning through my letterbox.

Of course ill have to hunt through the net to find something to play it on, but I will listen to it with as much openness and happiness as i did back then.

For the sake of nostalgia, for the sake of something different and for the sake of lovely Mike and his tape crafting artfulness, bring back tapes.

Plume.

Posted by Tia Price on October 16, 2012 at 6:20 AM Comments comments (0)

I have loved you since i was 11.

Your plume.

Loved to be surrounded by your silky grey vapours, curling and unfurling around me from the crackling head of a fire branded cherry.

I gave up on you for a year, between 15 and 16.

But you lulled me back.

Temptress... Harridan.

I can't imagine my life without you and the stares and condemnation that those around me make very clear only strengthens my resolve.

One must want to give up on that thing that is so bad for us.

One must want to stop..... i don't want to.

Truth be told, i just don't.

Foolishly, perhaps, i don't buy into the accepted ideas of illness and sickness, we create our dis-ease anyway.

I like the smell.

I love the taste.

In 30 years our government would have you gone, thats what they say.

In 30 years all trace of you will be wiped, they wish.

In 30 years the memories of you on our supermarket shelves will be but dust and orange granules.

But, for those like me, that for no reason have loved you in all your toxicity, thats gonna be a hard thing to put in place, because it goes against our free will, our choice to love you, use you, need your comfort when it all gets too rough.

Desire your company after dinner and sup at your back end with that blackest of coffee.

The morning fogs.

You have brought social interaction between the most unlikely of peer groups.

Have opened 'Gateways' for the acid trip fiends and poppy extraction lovers.

You have 'killed' mercilessly.

Given sex appeal to the undesirable all for the stick of death held between white (to orange) teeth.

You've made geeks cool and chubbly ladies 'siren'.

You have given artisans and writers and artists a moment of rest in the intensity of their days and a welcome five minutes for those who can't disengage any other way.

You created a sub culture with your creation and some of us still love you, some, the few judged and condemned to the rain and the winter winds.

Beautiful, murdering, lovely, terrible, glorious, social unacceptale, privately delightful...

Cigarettes.

 

What would i see?

Posted by Tia Price on September 18, 2012 at 4:55 AM Comments comments (0)

If i were to lift my eyes up to meet yours, would i find love there?

Would i see reflected back to me the deeper feelings that roil and broil beneath this surface?

And if i did, would you see me, hidden beneath this undergrowth that camoufages, hides and protects me. Secretes me away from your powerful gaze where i am small and inconsequential, i think.

Would i see love in the dilation of your pupils?

Would i see love in the glint of light on your iris?

Would i see love in the flutter of your many lashes, beating like a butterflies wing from the edge of your beautiful eye?

Would i see myself measured and judged, redeemed, would i see myself or just more of you?

What would i see? Would it be worse than this not knowing, the questions and the yearning?

Would i find love if i looked you back, ensured that on this occaision you saw me watching. Noticed my gaze that falls and difts across your back like a latent moon beam.

Loving you.

Wanting you.

Desiring only to be near you so i can, watch you and wonder if what i would see there in your deeper self would sate this love of my own. So i could fall into your eyes and you would cradle me there, hold me there in a poetic symbiosis where i am lost to all but you.

It is safer to wonder and hide.

It is safer not to know.

There can be no ending then.

So i watch only when you do not see, i shy my gaze when you feel the heat of my eyes to turn.

I measure and control and withold.

And deny myself...

 

 

Modern Letters.

Posted by Tia Price on August 13, 2012 at 10:25 AM Comments comments (0)

Her name is positively cosmic.

She writes emails.

In these emails she expresses the truth of how she feels.

She writes, endlessly, week after week, never getting a response.

But, in the writing is her release, her relief. In them she gets to say what she cannot to anyone else.

In them she is herself and not hiding from anyone.

In them, like a digital diary, only a memo saved in an outbox and in the inbox of the recipient, is her true self.

She tells of her mistakes, her exploits, her needs, her longings for the girl. Her broken heart, the stolen money, the family she cannot face, the fairy daughter and the immigrant husband. What and who she wants, the dreams of eloping and the money, the money, the money.

The personality, the dreams, the desires, all she cannot reveal to anyone else, she believes, for they would cast her out, expose her, deny her, ridicule and all other manner of other presumed fears.

That probably would not happen, only in her imagination.

But so strong are these projections that it is somehow better, somehow better to continue the twenty four hours of a lie. Never revealing that which she is.

Only in the emails, the modern letters. She doesn't bribe a coachman to carry her hidden quarry of communication. No seal to decorate or beautiful calligraphic scrawl to be admired.

No stamp of blood.

Only the monochrome of black and white as she tells the awaiting inbox of what she has done, what she fears and who she truly desires.

But, it is enough.

To speak her truth to someone, something, that waits for the next fresh batch of dreams.

 

Love vs Infatuation.

Posted by Tia Price on August 3, 2012 at 6:05 AM Comments comments (0)

Love says so many things.

Love is understanding.

Infatuation storms into the room with eyes ablaze.

Love is compassion.

Love is forgiveness.

Infatuation is potent, lethal.

Love is gentle.

Infatuation rips off clothing and smothers you in saliva.

Love is tender and gentle and affectionate.

Infatuation demands perfection. Absolute. No compromise. No faults whatsoever.

Love sees more love, love sees flaws as extra lovely bits.

Infatuation watches and covets and creeps.

Love stands proud and says 'whatever it is you need, i will give it to you.'

Infatuation demands like a spoilt child, fists thumping, legs flailing and tears streaming. 'Stamp Stamp Stamp' says infatuation.

Love gently cresses and gives the space, no demand, no tantrum.

Infatuation checks phones, worries about who you see, points fingers and needs. Infatuation needs you!

Love, love just loves you.

No matter what.

The Performance of your life.

Posted by Tia Price on August 3, 2012 at 5:45 AM Comments comments (0)

She thinks that she stands on a stage, and her audience are watching with bated breath.

All around, watching and contemplating her every move. Admiring, comiserating, adoring even.

Her dialoque is an endless listless soliloquay that brings no one joy.

The words like an infection of misery that spreads through the air, captivating all around her and bringing them to a point of neutral nothingness.

She believes that every choerographed movement, and it is, very well staged, very well timed, is drawing people in to ask questions, to review, to critique.

To want more..

 

But her movements are timed to an empty perfection of what a broken woman looks like, allegedly. Of what true loss looks like; but there is a jar to the note of her words that does not ring true.

A depth which is lacking.

An ugliness to this piece that one cannot put a finger on what is exactly wrong here. The content and the context do not matter, it is the sincerity that lacks. The conviction in the words, the movement, the lighting the stage and smoke machine.

A ring of authenticity that is not here.

And the audience are not convinced, they all sense it.

 

All who came last time wish they had had some washing to do to get out of this one. This latest production of tragedy.

Its scripted, here you'll find no improv and not even an accidental laugh, she will stare you down if you do.

But no one wanted to buy these tickets. Packed to the rafters, even the boxes are filled. All fidgetting doing their best to make the wrappers as loud as possible.

No one wanted to come to this performance, they just had nothing better to do and a friend of a friend had to to show support. HAD TO...

She doesn't realise this, she thinks this production is the greatest of her life and at the finale people will stand, applaud and shriek for encores.

When no one will, they will slink away, depleted, resentful and sombre.

Never getting back the 2 hours they just lost.

 

The flowers will have dried out, the chocolates will have mouldered and the bubbley turned to flat tasteless vino.

 

She thinks its a sell out tour of her very latest in the series...

...The one she calls 'The Victim'.

 

 

I stay...

Posted by Tia Price on August 2, 2012 at 5:15 AM Comments comments (0)

I saw myself back in the wood, i saw myself with your eyes.

I was orange.

I was surrounded by a vibrant orange and it seemed to glitter and flicker.

I was quite beautiful in orange.

The wood seemed so empty, as though now it had nothing filling it with light because i had taken it all back.

I saw myself, stood before you, and i tried to come closer but in some way you managed to push me back, so this is my power is it?

This me stepping forward to future and leaving you behind.

I was stood and i tried turn my eyes to see from myself, but all i could see was me in orange holding a child which looked like you, even though my stomach showed i was burgeoning with child.

Waters not yet broken, womb still holding.

The child i held was crying so silently, a keening wail in a wall of silence.

You were alone and i was outside of 'our' clearing. I had stepped out and it was clear to you and i both that i would not step back in, this truly was the end for us.

The wood seemed so sad and empty from your eyes, without me. Without me there to fill it, it wasnt't magickal, you made it bleak. It seemed a little threatening and grey.

You needed my life force to make it beautiful, And i need that life force, need it for my young one.

My pupae.

I saw myself, in assembly, at 14. I was in the rows watching the teachers speak, listening to the lessons, the group lessons of our year.

And i saw you, saw you stood at the top with the teachers but you were not one of them, you were an adolescent silent sneaker in the crowd. You were not meant to be there.

You knew that.

We saw each other and you ran away crying, through the door.

I stood to call you, i made to move but i couldn't move my limbs.

I was not to leave the assembly. I was to listen to the teaching, and stay.

So i sat back down, not even a little bothered, just mildly perplexed as i figured it out.

I wanted to comfort you, but i knew it was a waste of time. You were running, i would not find you and if i did it would not be of any benefit.

This i saw with my own eyes.

Now you run, because you know that you must go. Whether you want to or not.

You watch, then you run, as you always did.

Because you know, truly, now that what you want will not be -not that it ever could- and i am happy.

I am happy in beautiful orange listening to the lessons.

Goodbye running boy.


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