Initially, distance creates fondness, the patchwork lying below
indistinct, colours blending happily. Landscape of the mind breathes
with the contentment of time, viewed hazily through a cheerful heart. But then, the Jump
back into the past. Emotions plummet, skydiving towards the mess of memories.
The door yielded gently, catching on the ruffled rug of memory. A
patchworked quilt of recollections lay crumpled on the bed,
hues faded with time. Soft curtains barred the light, muffling thought:
the air, cloaked in kindness, hung soft.
Yet something seemed to stir. Some awful thing lay unmoving,
maleficent, a lacerated fur of innocent creation. Shrieks sparked at dust,
a howling heart left alone among dark conifers. Innocence wept in loss.
“Hush, child of my heart,” came the whisper, “you were not deserted.
Rescue has come: do you not perceive it?” Time had trickled onwards,
tender oil healing mercifully, pouring into wounds and healing scars.
But not enough. That cruel cloak still lurked within the closet, waiting
to be used once more in dreadful daylight. What I longed for
was annihilation of those destructive memories. No awakening. Ever.
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