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Out of context: Reply #3413
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- _salisae_0
Easy like the laces of an old shoe. Rope falling over identical rope. Over, under, pull tight, bunny ear, bunny ear, loop, walk, run. But wait, step back.
Not-so-damn-fast. Please strike those comments from the record young pretty court stenographer with the freshly waxed calves and crimson nails marred by coffee stained teeth. Start over. Done and walking. No thinking or explanation needed. The way it should be. Easy. Quick.
Thoughtless and pure like rolling to the left, mid-dream. Only upon unfolded eyes, heavy legs tangled in miles of warm sheet do you realize the taste of the destination. Ah the destination! Even if it were lined with all the candy, cigarettes, puppy's breath and vanilla pudding it couldn't be more perfect. So easy. So strange and different. So uncomfortably comfortable. Perfect in every way.
The way the ghost of your childhood slips under the fence unnoticed by your attention-starved adulthood. The ache of never having. Gone. Forgotten in those tangled sheets. Forgotten like looping the bunny ears before rubber hit soil. Walk. Run. No, maybe. Skip! Yes, definitely skip. With 'destination' in your pocket like a shiny stolen toy fire engine. Skip. If you skip hard enough you can feel that candy red stolen tin engine slide up and down!
Did you get that? Did you record that in your notes miss court reporter? Please don't chew your nails, not now. Did you get the part about 'destination'? Did you get the part about the sheets? Speak up. Yes? Okay, thank you. It's very important.
It happens so fast. So easy and perfect! And yet year after year after attention starved adult year the destination gets farther and farther. The sheets stay where they were laid when eyes first creased. The taste of unfamiliar gets lost like the first sip of soda; seemingly never to be had again. Heavy, restless tangled legs stay put. A smooth roll to the left in mid-dream is but just that, a dream. A dream you'd induce if there were only a liquid to set it into motion. Like a song you learned as a child, 'it's on the tip of my tongue!' Forgotten and lost. Dance steps on a dance floor in a town you can't remember the directions to. They were written down here somewhere! Forgotten? Lost forever? It's got to be in a box around here somewhere...