“Perhaps all romance is like that; not a contract between equal parties but an explosion of dreams and desires that can find no outlet in everyday life. Only a drama will do and while the fireworks last the sky is a different colour.”
Jeanette Winterson – The Passion
They are waiting in the fading light as time overflow off Samhain. The tempest has gone and visitors are few underneath the leaded sky. They have followed you. Your massive hands are empty while my immaterial fingers hold up some meat, but they flock by your side.
There is an imaginary dialogue full of peaceful tensions, a delicate game of gazes and wings, loud voices and soft purring. This is when I know time has stopped in the air as the ocean continue soaring at our feet.
I wish for a dark feather to caress my cheek, a wing to hold me safe and tight but I know the wild creatures are way more fantastic and beautiful free from my touch. They are pure magic and only misery would arise if they were tamed. I have no wish to play master and slave or even slave and master.
If one day the storm would take us by surprise, I wish it to ignite only in the instant. No trace should remain, no message carved in time, no weapons to be used, no leverage for abuse or power. It should be a flame in the wind showing each second its unique twisted pattern, a joy born and dead in the same breath.
When they are free, I am as well.