33996 . . .

she is a memory, a distant feeling, a version of myself that i want never to be again. i remember being her, and my heart aches, my insides burn. she woke from a winter spent dreaming to a reality far removed from that awake-ness. she spoke of herself in distant terms. she spoke of herself as if she were not part of herself, as if her body and soul were not one. she is one now. i am one now. we are one now.

he calls to me in rhyme. sometimes his voice carries on the wind and i hear him in distance like the moon. sometimes his voice comes to me as if he were closer than my own skin. i listen to him in stillness. i listen to him in singularity. i breathe his voice, and my heart beats the calculated words that fall from his lips. he is rapture, he is solace, and suddenly my mind is not searching. he is my own breath, and suddenly we are completeness. i hang from his words as they leave his lips, float through the air like the lyrics of the sweetest song, and burry themselves deep within my heart. i feel i have found my soul, and i want only for him to speak again. in his words are my answers.

"7959962, please, i need to hear you".

he walks with clarity. he walks with the certainty of aloofness. he walks with nonchalant majesty.

---

"Lost little Aviator, I have returned to you,
My words are riddles of the things you must do.
Listen carefully to the brilliance of me,
Know there is meaning in all that you see."

---

i feel his words become a part of myself. they enter into me like daggers piercing depths i never knew to be reachable. i listen with anticipation. i know nothing other than that i know i need to know.

"you speak to me as if you know me. how can you know me? how can you know anything? tell me who you are. tell me what you know. please, tell me! i have waited so long to hear the voice of knowledge, and you are more than knowledge. you are everything".

---

"Who are you, insolent bee,
who are you to question me?
I have traveled the greatness of this land,
To unlock the mysteries inscribed by ancient hand.
When I speak to you about a key,
It is the key to much curiosity.
It opens the door to interlaced circles of being,
So you can finally understand what your heart is seeing.
Take my words for what they're worth,
Take my words with merriment and mirth."

---

like vapour dispersing, he is gone, but his words echo and reverberate. i turn them over and over again. i look at them backward and frontward, and i want to know what he knows. i want to know all that he is. i want to know his strength, and his grace. i want to know the hibition behind his gracefully clever words. i want to know, and i am searching again. my searching now is fervent and unending. i am past the point of return, but i do not want to return.

he has left, but he has not left me with nothing. he has left me with a gift and a promise to return.

33996 . . .