-
“I found your long black hairs. I felt your poltergeist presence in the frame of the bed.”
-
I will be the first one to say it: it surprised me. It doesn’t usually happen to me, that kind of nervous hysterical jealousy. To say that I am confident, comfortable in my skin, is to speak the truth. I don’t shy away. I don’t skirt the topic. I don’t bury my head. I reach out and grab it; pull it towards me and stare it down. That’s how I deal. I don’t often retreat into my head so dramatically that events begin to pass through a sour filter of my own melodramatic creation. No. I don’t do this.
I will tell you the truth now. I won’t mince words. I felt your ghost. I felt your breath on my neck. I felt your hand on my shoulder, so close did I sense you. I wondered if you had cast some sort of spell in your wake. I thought I might be a victim of some form of witchcraft. And that spell was one that forced me time and time again to feel you, to see your face, to think of you, when you were the last person I wanted in my head.
Honestly, I want to say this to you: I felt like your prisoner. I knew you wanted it that way. This form of insidious torture was the only way you could get to me. I had what you wanted; what you suddenly wanted once I had it. I predicted it from the moment I first heard your name. He didn’t believe me, but I didn’t need him to. It was enough for me to assume a protective stance in dealings with you. My guard firmly in place, my wall impenetrable, or so I thought.
But the more I tried to push you out of my mind, the more you flooded it. It bordered on obsession. I want to remind you of something: this is not me. This is not what I do. I am not prone to believing in these sorts of fantastic uses of power and yet, your hold on me was undeniable.
In time, the very mention of your name was enough to produce tiny electric shocks under my skin. And when he went on the defense in your honor, it choked me with an icy fear. It threatened to take me under. All the time I wanted to scream, “Let him go and let me go and let us go and let us be.” It’s all I really wanted to say and all I really needed to say. I didn’t want to say it to you alone. I wanted to say it to him, as well. I wanted to choke out your solidarity, the shadowy presence of it, so that I might have a chance to plant my own garden. It wasn’t too much to ask. He chose me, you will remember. He mourned you and he moved forward and what was lost is forever gone.
It is only now, many months later, when I can pull one of your long black hairs out of something and not feel my stomach curdle. Your ghost is not here in this place. It has been banished and sent on its way. I do not know if it left willingly. It doesn’t concern me how it departed; only that it is gone for good.
Please tell me that it is gone for good.
Timber Timbre – ‘Bad Ritual’
Audio clip: Adobe Flash Player (version 9 or above) is required to play this audio clip. Download the latest version here. You also need to have JavaScript enabled in your browser.
-
for 39 more ‘tuesdays with tara’, spend a few days in the archives. you’ll be happy about that decision.
Amen sista’!
‘long black hairs’ yikes!
That is really good!