Entry 34 - Bizarre Melancholic Twilight

I saw a poet as a person. It was a little bit shocking. I’ve never contemplated authors as actual people before. The language, the genius of the words and images came from a dude. A guy with eyes and ears and glasses and a strange little bowtie. A guy who looked young and old at the same time. Yeats. Time is a strange thing. West Point. A place that is wrapped up in itself, sulking in its monolithic glory. A college with a fantastically aggressive ROTC program and nice uniforms. Haven’t I always been here? Was there any other place I used to live? Did I use to live with my father and sleep with my boyfriend? Sex? I don’t really miss it. I don’t really miss R. Time seems to have stopped. How long have I been gone? I don’t remember. I’m not even sure I actually exist here now. Or that I ever left.

I know what’s wrong. I had images of going to the Collegium. A place where you were constantly learning useful things. Valuable things. Things that could actually save your life. I was expecting discipline, but more that that I was expecting purpose. Instead, I got high school with a shitload of pointless crap to do. I thought maybe I would enjoy this place…now, I’m afraid I’ll just have to learn to tolerate it like everything else. I expected constant physical activity. Ego training, time enough to learn combat skills. I thought I would be able to weight lift, get strong, mentally and physically, but all they do is tear me apart and make me weak. I feel so much less than I used to be. Miserable, weak, and alone. Always alone.

Right now, I’d like to be curled up in a beautiful place. Somewhere green and soft with the cold tapping on the window sill, tucked up smartly between your legs, nestled in that perfect shoulder. I could feel your hands sliding through my hair all cool and soft, not tangling for once, lying in long strands across your wrists. I could hear the sound of rain pattering, trickling all around as I sit safe and warm with you. I could hear your heartbeat, that rhythmic pressure beating lightly on my skin matching the deep. Slow breath whispering on my eyelids. I could feel those long, clever fingers molding me, soothing me and wiping all the world away as I breathe you in. So lovely in the dying light, a picture of you I see without sight. Those gentle sighing touches that ripple on my skin and wrap me closer into you. So lovely, so quiet in the deepening of night. With each inhale, feel that oh-so-poignant pierce, that ache, that teasing mystery hiding in the shadows. Those hands, strong, gentle hands. Comfort, caress, communication all in one, wrapped around my heart. Soft brushes, tender touches, words that caress their delicate wind falling like mist into my ear. So lovely.