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Wednesday 4th December, 2002 - http://turkeyphant.livejournal.com/
odi et amo: Catullus's inspiration
In the beginning, when we were winning / When our smiles were genuine
The Everlasting?

It's cold tonight. Peeking out from behind wispy and fleecy cirrus that sweeps across the sky, an achingly a full moon strained round the corner of the steeple's spire and beamed down light to warm my soul. I look up: my ceiling is only heaven's floor.

The moon always seems full these days; so radiant and strikingly beautiful. Light banter flowed effortlessly through the still evening air. The twinkling stars were out, and gentle photons are refracted through clouds, reaching our eyes at the same time. Simultaneously meaning together - together because we're together. Everything else under that sky doesn't matter at this moment. Her delicate hand is tightly gripped in mine as though I could never let her go and, while she softly talks, I look upward - bright-rayed craters are illuminated by an unseen sun and I think to myself for a moment. Just recently, I would have thought it equally likely that I could be on that milky-white moon four hundred thousand kilometres away as being here, spending my evening with a pretty girl who captured my heart so. I uttered a silent prayer to no deity in particular: Please, please; let this be real.

She tugged gently on my arm and I obediently followed. Sniffing the air, I could close my eyes and know exactly where she would be. That faint musky aroma wafted through the air molecules, drifting to me - I beamed. On anyone other than her, I would have been put off by such a scent; it was almost too...too confident. She looked back at me and smiled the most radiant smile that could light a thousand moons. Supple muscles toned by years of fencing competitions contracted slightly and again, I felt a lithe little pull on my arm. I wouldn't have minded if she were ripping my arm from its socket; just the touch of her was enough. We continued talking, but about what I can't remember.

The perfect silence of the night was shattered suddenly by a distant girly giggle coursing through the deserted evening air from across the Green Court. Mist was beginning to settle. As she led me into the undercroft, she stopped for a moment and turned slightly, "If you ever get to know me," she coyly said, just loud enough for me to hear, "I bet you'll end up hating me". Looking into my eyes, she knew that waiting for my reply wasn't necessary, for we both understood how impossible hate would be.

Later, we lay together on those red-carpeted stairs. The silvery moonlight was just reaching our feet - it was so delicate I felt that breathing too hard would make it dissolve away to be fleetingly lost forever in the endless, yawning canvas of sky. She's in my arms and I look down, wondering whether it would be appropriate to kiss her hair again. From this angle I can't tell whether her eyes are open or closed and it makes me think back to when we had staring competitions when I first met her. So close to her now, I can smell her perfume stronger than ever and the atoms of pure sweetness curl up to my nose in whorls that make me giddy. It's so flattering when a girl makes an effort for you. Our moment is suddenly interrupted by a teacher opening a door behind us, but he's soon gone - the contaminant forced out because we're so intimidatingly perfect together. She flirtingly smiles looking up at me and we talk on, me wishing the sun to never rise.

But wait, wait - back up just a little bit.

This tale began when we all least expected it - over the supper table her irises were absorbent, and I could see through them into something far beyond. I never used to be good at staring competitions, but now the food heating up my chin from beneath is forgotten and I can keep my eyelids from automatically shutting forever. If I should break my gaze, I won't see her anymore; I'll no longer be looking into her eyes. More than anything, I want to see. We walk out past the kitchens - that smell of acrid alkaline detergents, the magical lightning ball in the physics display and the bottle-green hedge that always seems darker than the night.

This night, she sits with me on the war memorial. The stones are hard and cold and so rough but we talk: successive personal mutual self-disclosures and the private evaluation that is all part of the ritual. Before I leave her side, she reaches out, completely unexpected, and embraces me in a brief but warm life-giving hug. An ephemeral moment of shared intimacy was the beginning of the process; that sweet feeling as you begin to assimilate all those tiny imperfections and idiosyncrasies that linger in memory after everything else is forgotten. This was just the start.

Oh, linger indeed...

Continued...Collapse )

There's no time like the present

Wake up, Neo...

But of course, we can't live in the past. All good things some to an end. And now, we have to fast forward to the present. The time is now, and no longer is it stacked with fickle hopes and dreams, bounteous promise and a romance shared with someone special.

Yet more continuation...Collapse )

Later tonight, I'll probably walk round the Green Court again with the canorous harmonies from choir practice lilting through the chilling evening breeze. Everything is so much darker now - the air is no longer thick with expectation but heavy with mid-winter loneliness. But still I'll walk on, glancing momentarily at the taunting scorn of something that reminds me of her, but never stopping. The thoughts linger with me as though they are still wafting down through the air from those evenings that are now so long ago. Slowly scuffing my shoes on the rough ground, I'll trundle round and round absent-mindedly kicking at non-existent gravel and avoiding the stares of people in pairs, just walking on. Alone.

Why do I always think to myself in µ-speak?

    mood: ambivalent
    choon: Alec Empire – Addicted To You