I’m two people.
I’m just a person in my life.
The colours are muted and unexceptional.
I almost don’t notice them at all.
A bird is a bird.
And my eyes just open and shut
Like everyone else’s.
And I somnambulate through my day
Just to reach its end.
I don’t dream on nights after days like those.
But other days,
I become the other Me,
And my eyes open
The colours swirl about my vision and my heartsenses,
And invade and nip at me deliciously,
Like I am their consummate and eternal lover.
They turn the quiet to symphonic whispers and yelps
That usurp my every thought and emotion,
Completely tilting me sideways.
My dreams become my waking life,
And a bird is no longer
She becomes a divine clarion
From the private heavens of my soul(s),
And all I can see is a light that blinds and gives sight
It draws water from my eyes
Along with tears infused with dark longings and stirrings for which there are no words or understandings,
And drags my knees back down to the earth
In holy reverence
Of the mysteries of the darkness
And the light.
Those are the days in which I disappear.
Those are the days in which I am more present than the colours dancing upon the skycast domes of my eyes.