For the first time in my life, I heard complete silence.  All of Fantasma's music stopped and I felt like I had entered into a far off land...  But, I can't think.  I try to go back, but I am blocked...  I chart my path forward, but with the understanding that I will be rittled with pain.  But, it's all pain--back or fourth...up or down...it's all pain.  The back was vain, which lead to highs and lows...  Passing forth brings victory, but the Valley can be so intimidating--to the point that I feel as though I'm losing myself. 

So I stand, and as my feet make deep prints in the mud, I feel the worst pain...the tenderness that settles itself deep in my core.  This aching has no compass, so it rests in the middle of chaos.  And I have a decision to make...and, to be quite simple, it's hard.  How do I live when my old life is dead?  How do I walk alone after constantly being in various shadows?  But I rememeber that I'm not alone...and He is there.

And though I have that blessed assurance, the little girl still cries out...but softly...dimly...and to a degree that can barely be heard.  Regardless of her pitch, she's still there...and though her cries are low, I feel her deep longings in my center--kicking me in that throbbing core...that core of decision.  And...it hurts.  For the first time in my life, I heard complete silence...and it's terrifying.

And Francesca stared at him so deeply that her eyes connected with his soul...her teardrops dripped into the pond of his heart and made ripples so distinct that all the earth stopped its rotation...

And now, I stare at you with hot tears firmly planted in the back of my eyes.  Rhiannon pants for she will never win.  Oh, how I lived for you...to the point that I was ripping my heart out, just to make yours beat again.  You held me captive with your sweet nectar, and I suckled your sweet juices as my eyes closed half-way--inviting me into a numbed state.  I stood on the second step as everyone else ascended.  I looked backward at the first step, as though I made a mighty accomplishment.

And now, the seeds have blossomed into unique flowers, with colors so rich that many would have never imagined their beauty.  I stand there, and realize that I never shed my petals during the winter.  They turned brown.  And now, they fall to the ground by the force of the wind.

She lays on the nighttime grass stretched out like a star.  And she doesn't blink, because as soon as she closes her eyes, the pain deeply within her becomes reality.  And water rushes down her arms and drips from her fingertips in slow motion.  She stands in the rain, soaking wet, yet she still refuses to blink.  The salt water rests on her lashes and she feels the sting slowly surround her vision.

And she walks on the beach, barefoot and alone.  She moves but with no destination.  Her feet make distinctive prints in the sand, and the water rushes them away.  Her hands are restless,  Her short white gown hanging loosely...her arms weak...but she doesn't blink, for then she will realize that she is alone on the shore. 

And she sits on the mountain peak...fingers with red tips...breath that produces shapes that blend with the clouds.  With her knees together, the crisp white horizon accents and magnifys each and every dot of unrelated color.  She stares, yet her face begins to tense.  She takes a breath...and the wells of her eyes become extremely difficult to contain.  She releases her external fog, and as she does, she blinks.

In the purity of her ecclectic surroundings, she allows her soul to speak.  Her tears turn to ice as they run down her cheek.  She cradles her hands...she recognizes her own heartbeat, and suddenly, she sits on her knees...on the floor that she loves...and she crafts words delicately on papyus leaf...and as the blue ink dries...seemingly instantly, her eyes see things with crystal vision.  Each letter reflects...each stroke intimately sealed.

As I lay on the warm bed, I glance at my mirror as it abnormally glows a few feet away.  Being intrigued, I slowly walk toward it, and in the midst of staring at my reflection, I see that the mirror is made of an unknown liquid vertically aligned in its white, metal frame.  I put my hand out to touch it, and my fingers enter into the parallel realm that is so carefully disguised by Reality's reflections. 

I take a deep breath and carefully step inside.  And, as I look around, everything I see is distorted.  Left takes the place of right...back becomes forth.  The fan rotates, but counter-clockwise.  The clock ticks, but towards the past.  I look through the mirror, and I see Reality slowly becoming hazy and distant.  I become encompassed in the present time of reflection.  In this hidden place, I have found the freedom to rewind...the freedom to erase every careless whisper...every foul look...every vain tear...and I hold that egg of power in my hand every-so forcefully, until I feel it crack.  Its' yolk slowly runs through my fingers and it drips onto the wooden floor... 

The fire that usually burns so loudly within me has become silent...a glow...a candle that burns consistently and still.  Why should I not be upset when the suppresive boot strategically presses its sole against my forehead?  Why fit the mold?  And the mold...a mold that so many flowers have fit into, seems to be improper for me.  When I look away from His aqua magestic perfection, I see the ashes and flames heavily surrounding me...but when I keep my eyes on Him, everything else fades as He centers. 

To forgive all the ashes is my lot.  Things happen.  People only see what is tangiable.  My jewel is hidden from their sight.  They view, rather, a distinctive shell which encompasses my treasure.  I am more than a category.  I do not have to fit a mold-made mold... I simply have to be molded into what He wants and allow His hands to craft me delicately from crown to sole.  It can be done. 

The corruption of this land shows itself through the poison that drips from the lips which rise to smile...pores that turn into cracked blood...eyes that show the stolen merchandise inside of the painted house. 

And, as I sit here pondering...realizing these things with insight, I know that they, too, shall pass.  There will be a glorious day when everything is seen through the perfect glass...a 360 degree view of the truth.  On that day, this currency will be but a long forgotten memory.  This too, shall pass...

As the autumn leaves fall in their magestic colors, I sit on an aged, wooden bench observing their worship.  And as my eyes view them directly, they carress the ground and fade.  I am surrounded by crystaline white...paked loosely, but connected undoubtedly.  I tilt my head back to confine a few drops inside my mouth...

And suddenly, I am captured in the midst of a midnight storm...my hair drenched and hanging loosely in black, dripping waves...my lashes struggling for vision that surpasses the haze... 

And thus, I walk on those four, red squares that bring me back to my initial time of intensity.  I pace them--one...two...three...four...and I remember the words I spoke so innocently...so ignorantly as that mystifying child.  The sun hits my face at an angle, and a deep sigh arises from my core.

Oh, the highs were intensely high, and the lows were hellishly low. What can I say? I was insane...and used you to fill my deep well. You were meant to wipe up my spills... And I lift your hand to apologize, but I am speechless. I feel your warmth... Your pores tangiable... Your heartbeat faintly felt.

I was ignorant to my intent. And, in the land of Ignorance, I wanted to hold you like a precious jewel--I wanted to look deeply into your eyes to see the full scope of your essence. Now, I lay with my head resting on my pillow, and I mourn the memory. I suck my thumb and tightly close my eyes to drown out the potential thoughts or theories. I turn the music up higher so that everything can drown in the Sea of Time.

I want to have your name trickle from the fountain of my pen, but then again, what is the point? We silently agreed to play each other's game--and now, only crystal blue tears can capture the eternal outcome.

I lay down in the bed...fully wrapped in my comforter...and topless...somewhat bottomless, yet covered sufficiently.  And, I take my hand and rub my side from the north to the south, then back again.  I survey my body...and imagine how it would look if I were to decrease.  The canyons and valleys would appear.  The mountain peaks would arise and the stately tower will become taller than perviously known.  Only if that burdening part of me would shrivel...if only I could begin my deduction without looking in my rearview mirror. 

I believe that the Broken Flower said it best, "To lose such a significant part of oneself can put one into an extreme emotional panic."  All of us on Planet Plus are dreaming in fervent color.  We see our potential...slimintial...thinintial...shapential...but what do we do?--sit down on the comfy couch of false contentment...the armless chair of fear...the sturdy hammock of wait...and we continue to dream--a dream that's fruit is steadily going out of season.

But once in a great bulbous while, one of our fellow inhabitants moves from their state of complacentcy...and they fly off.  We do look at them as they ascend.  With tears in our eyes, envy in our hearts, and fat hands clasping eclairs, we recognize that the population is steadily decreasing as our pants are steadily expanding.  So we all go back to our seats and dwell in the uncomfortable silence.  With rosie cheeks, greasy fingers, and powder puffed lips, we breathe hard, rest our hands on our expanding bellies and say, "I'll start tomarrow."