When we are tired, we often tend to let go or seek to leave everything that matters for relief, what we call rest. Everything. But there’s just things you can’t leave. You can’t leave your body. You can’t just move your soul to a vacuum, or your emotions into a freshly baked loaf of bread.
This is my fantasy when I’m tired:
I seem to be living in a zone, a place where she and I are lovers. When tired, I feel safe drifting into a fantasy where she is a queen and I am the crown. Where am polished each day just for her, just to enforce her power over me. I’m also the subject she rules. In a kingdom where there’s only two people, me – the subject, and her, the queen. And there’s me the crown. I polish me (the crown) for her, I (the subject) serve her for whom I make her (my queen).
There’s life in walking, there’s calm in worrying. If I please her, I will worry of satisfying her. If I satisfy her, I’ll beat myself up whether it’s genuine. As I massage her hopes, I dream of “the coming”. The coming of a king, one that will be there for her. Calm her. Carry her to dreamland and usher her back to reality. One who’ll raise the bar, not so she can’t jump over it, but so she can be a champion, conquering, be the best. I see a king rising from a subject, becoming a generation of beautiful memories.
After going down valleys and climbing up steep slopes, I’ll be there to prepare her a warm, scented bath. Rub oil on her chocolate skin, and massage her tight, cramped muscles, ease their inflamations, give her a rest from everything but me. I’d like to be a clear but deep blue mass of fresh water, where even her thickest fears, heaviest worries will float. Where she can be a butterfly hatched, living to smell the hypnotic scent of spring flowers. I want to be there. I never want to not be there. For her to make me the present, even at my most weak, at her inexplicable exhaustion. To let me be the solace in her fatigue.
TODO 