Thursday, Aug. 19, 2004 @ 12:22 am
The Geese and the Crows
I run heavy-footed through the cemetery. Geese rise and wake behind me, v-shaped waves of hollow grey feathered bodies.
I'm working on jealousy, trying to work it out of me, trying to work it through me.
The crows come. Hundreds of crows. Black pinpricks way up in the atmosphere, whooshing feathers across my face when they dart and dive low. This isn't a dream; this is all happening right now.
The crows and the geese and the headstones. I leave through the sqeaky iron gate.
I hate the way he hugs her. I hate the way their past is scattered here and there though his house and his mind.
He's holding me, telling me he gets lost in looking at my face. Leaning over onto me in the backseat on the ride home. Letting me hold onto him all night. Despite all this I can't help but think that she's better than me and that he'll be led astray.
What it really means is that I like him so much that it makes me feel vulnerable. The sun is low and filters through the cemetery in wonderful misty beams. A little sadness but so full of hope - I hope you aren't the first to break my heart.