while you're pondering the past and the present and the future somebody begins knocking on your door. (wherein someone discovers something, and that something may or may not be love. i.e. the story of a very confused somebody) (an older story)
time is slow, time is fast. you're never quite sure where you're at, especially not nowadays when you feel as though you're everywhere and nowhere at once. trapped in your dreamlike reverie, you see nothing but the past.
while you're pondering the past and the present and the future somebody begins knocking on your door. you take great care not to break the shallow ground as you step towards it. you've never had anyone at your door before. you open it to see a young lady, beautiful and hideous in every which way, and wonder why she's here. how she even knows you're around. she greets you in a voice akin to something like lilacs and the whispering wind, invites herself in, and closes the door with a careful slam.
you return the greeting, your rarely-used voice shaking ever so gently. she sighs and it's wonderful. you've never met her before but she must be the love of your life, your soulmate, to know that you are well and alive in your tomb. you must admit that the correlation between these two ideas escape you, but you know you must be right nonetheless.
she kisses you, neither rough nor gentle nor lustful nor romantic. it feels like nothing and everything. you are floating as you walk her to your bed. she shakes her head at you.
"no." she is not here to play around. she will not have any of this lovemaking nonsense, she tells you as she shoves you to the ground. she's a monster, she's got claws digging into your shoulders and you don't know what's happened to your maiden. she grins and it's a beautiful, ugly sight, less like teeth and more like rotting fangs and what does it mean, you wonder. what does it mean to be repulsive and attractive and oh, you want her everything.
she nips your skin and saunters away without a sound. you watch in disbelief before you decide, whatever whatever, she'll come back again. she always does.
you push yourself into an upright position. you rub your throbbing temples and glance around the room. you must get ready for today and tonight and tomorrow. maybe you've got a date. you aren't quite sure anymore.
the buzzing tv breaks you free from your reverie. you glance at it to see the ever-familiar static of some nonexistent channel and it almost breaks your heart. you quickly rectify this, switching to see more deaths and births and assaults. the world is an awful place, you think, pulling yourself onto the couch. you watch the explosions and laugh, the sound wrapping around you and filling the air like smoke and your house is on fire. you very calmly dial the phone, wondering what on earth you've done this time. no response. your phones are dead, you've run out of service and time. we're sorry, sir, we can't help you. you are neither sir nor ma'am, thank you very much. you give a stern lecture to the automated voice but it's alive and it doesn't care. probably doesn't hear.
no matter, you simply walk out of the house for the third time this month and watch it melting away and isn't it a shame, you think, that it's so easy to lose what you love. you breath in the smoke and you laugh. it's a wonderful, wonderful world you're living in and you can see it all, the universe and the stars through the clouds and the sun.
you open your eyes to the sound of clattering pills and shattering dreams, and you wonder where you've been the whole time.