Lingering Five.

Half past seven, and at a loss of just what to do. There are options, naturally, an evening free to myself are full of them. I may take a leisurely bath, I may read by the back door, paint upon the stairs, perhaps bake something... I may paint my nails or moisturise my skin with an unusual limitless time.
But of course I know what I would prefer to be doing.
I do wish, and at the same battle with said wish, that I may fast forward a few months, and be sat in the evening autumn gleam, by a window that is then my own. My new predicament, possibly with my home-made curtains already clung and hung, studying indepthly the book I have been assigned on the course of which I have yet, at present, to take up. The excitement of all of this has been sweetened just of recent, oh such a veil has been thrown upon it, such as rose-tinted glasses are put upon those in love.
My veil, it is of silver and sheen, a delicate and grand material, fine like smoke and defined like intricate jewellery. It has the feeling of aristocracy, with the earthly feel of a war-wife's home.
Perfectly does it coat the scene of my hopeful and near future. Glossy, does it have my items appearing and softer does my cushion upon the window sill seem to feel. Whiter is the autumn sun that floods over me and my writing, clearer is my path from there. A winding cobble down the garden, and who to visit me but he, that day. My glance up and a smile without blinking. Broader, it does seem through veiled image.
And oh, how I am shot back to the present! How I cannot forget that just more than an hour, the sweetest, sincerest good bye! And how I may write freely of this feeling, how as much as I wish to be there in my future, do I now wish to lie here in the present, for through wooden blinds, leaking in summer sun, the veil momentarily took the present, and all I did see was he!

A goodbye felt in the hand early in the hours of our afternoon. Should it seem so naturally calm, the blue of sky sitting contentedly above the mass of grey clouds, mingling like marble with specks of the white. Rain upon twirling fingers of hands that no longer ache to sunlight, no longer burn red in stress. They are the colour of skin now, they are! And with wind slipping by so fast through car windows, we could have been comfortably falling once more.

Still lingering in my clouded sky are the familiar doubts, bouts of the unknown and worries that circulate mostly at night. Upon startled lips that still harbour fresh of flesh, a smile still plays doubtless.
And then, came that moment. That the women in the films, the ladies in the stories and the girls in their best friends cars, they had this face, they lingered in these thoughts and they enjoyed life.
Oh how I felt so warm , so suddenly at ease, for this is the fearless running I had sought in times that seemed to have no litten path away from them! Just as mentioned in post previous!
I will always want to go home, I will always will myself toward the ocean, but as of now, i am content! And dare I use a word stronger! Dare I not! So as not to jynx what may be my only chance at an adolescent innocence protruding happiness !

Bristol, sweet Bristol. You have not always been so sweet, for my welcome was sour, by early hour!
By the taking of my innocence you beckoned me in, falsely led hope, safety in a room polluted in large light!
Low wooden table, brick work on show and a flea-ridden garage ! Oh you are nothing to I!
And yet Bristol, sweet you, are proving that I took wrong path just inside of your means, not just at all!
I find that I am cosy in your archways, well trod upon your cobble, oh whether the rain falls or the night is endless, you are alight in ways I never once before understood.
Oh yes home, with it's voices, it's sand and it's nostalgia! It does call.
But now, sweet Bristol, I am here. And i refuse to live forwardly, and live just as it comes! And today, it has come to be, that familiar faces are suddenly smiling, and they are plenty! Oh just today, the sun bent around the car, and just today, the rain hailed us, freshening and gently!

As I lie in the night that was just last, they prodded at me. They fingered at the corners of the duvet, they giggled obscenely as they scattered around the bed unseen. Those creatures who have been around, who ruin me aswell as light the hope in my bones that I am not alone. I could make out nothing last night of their terrors, their lighthearted jokes. I could hear no words and feel no particular way to be. But still they were there.
Small crimson ghosts?
As his cool arm crossed me, it was less a protection than a comfort, and yet still my chest heaved in the slight fear of reoccurance. Of hopelessness. Loneliness.
Those things are only just exitting, but lingering in the garden, in houses and coverts nearby. As I look from a well practised window, I am aware of their presence, their little snarls and giggles, the goblins of the past I am leaking from slowly. Steam rises from the chimney of a home, a warming sign that I may settle.
But the creatures remind me of the need to be upon my toes, should I need to scatter again.
So tired of starting over some where new, and yet so torn still!

Sweet presence, save me, sweet present, assure that I am to be and simply be !

It could take all but one show of lips to a hand and I may melt into my present reality, undetectable and yet appreciated. I'll blink.