Monday, June 22, 2009

I touched the soil and he loved me back

When I write short little stories (which I do occasionally for my own amusement) I find that I am endlessly coming back to them, tweeking a sentence here, a structure change there. The stories that I keep evolve and progress when I do. Id be curious to see how they have changed from their original form but alas that cannot be since I do not save what came before. Anyways, here is one I have been playing with for over a year now.

"Pillow Talk" (I just made this title up, but lets face it, it probably wont stick)

“I’m having trouble with meaning,” She stated as if it were the weather, “ I have been thinking about the soul. If there is a source of meaning - it lies within its undefined walls. I don’t know exactly what your thoughts are on the soul. I have always tried to imagine it, where it would be. A ball of light hanging above my head? Thin streams of smoke in the deepest creases of my belly button? Whatever manifestation it possibly takes wouldn’t matter if we had them. They could be a sort of creature comfort like a blanket or a god. It comforts me to think that I have one. I would be happy if the only meaning in life is to protect our souls and let each one reveal itself to us slowly.
Its just lately I’ve been feeling that it be very easy to fall aside in this life. To pursue avenues that seemed to be what one wants but that lead us somewhere without meaning. Meaning is important to me. I feel the need to get up and run. Go somewhere - do something. I think maybe I understand a deeper part of why you always push to go further and further, but I wont presume to know.”

She thought again for a moment, quickly becoming embarrassed by her sudden omission. Her glance fell to the nightstand but the face of the clock offered no comfort.
“I think I might be talking with an echo. Talking nonsense to myself. If you cant understand any of this, don’t worry. I’m having problems forming my thoughts. Thoughts as concepts in my head seem much simpler and easier to understand.”

He shifted on the mattress and then with such certainty he spoke, “ Its okay. We die never knowing the truth of any of it.”

Nothing hurts between duvet covers.


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