Wednesday, November 14, 2007

Ravishment

I know I need to continue my Descent of Ishtar post, but I really cannot until I translate the feelings jumbling into any of my attempts at other thoughts. I must articulate them - they are disallowing any sort of progression.

The situation was anomalous, though seemingly trite. Aren't most situations like that? They feel as though they've happened before somewhere - in some parallel universe or previous lifetime or, more commonly, in someone else's life - but somehow, when they happen to you - every single, disparate time - they feel fresh. This situation was especially commonplace and especially jarring: walking through a parking lot on a blustery evening. It had rained. The sky was cloaked in porous cloud-cover, allowing scattered stars to peek through in some places: sufficient twinkling to assure any viewers of their continued existence, yet hardly enough to feel intruded upon by ever-observant celestial entities. The wind was wild. It was yearning that night. I was yearning as well. It bellowed a whisper, I quaked. The wind ran its ethereal fingers through my hair, tossing it whichever way; I let it. I relished it. Our essences intertwined. It lifted my shirt, cool touch shocking my exposed back. It caressed that skin, and I grew accustomed to the feeling. I enjoyed it. Wind grabbed my scarf, pulling, tugging. Then, the wind ravished me. I breathed it in - deep. It was inside of me, coursing - pounding life. The stars twinkled on, discreetly observing the licentious scene. The wind carried my scent away, mingling it with its own rain-ness. I continued to walk. I was surrounded by a chattering crowd who hadn't the eyes to witness what the stars did - who hadn't seen the communion of wind and angela. They hadn't seen purity lost, nor purity bestowed. Reluctant, I leaned into the belly of a car: a place where wind would be shut out. It gave my hair one final tousle and brushed my cheek with a cold parting peck. Doors slammed. I inhaled the stale, perfumed air of the car's insides - ruefully remembering wind's ferocity. But neither of us yearned any longer.

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