words don't express my meaning

i had a dream last night that we were in an old, empty house together, exploring. it was unnervingly quiet, but when we spoke it didn't echo. instead our words were muffled by the peeling wallpaper, by the exposed fibre glass insulation, by the ancient breezes our movements made, stirring dust. our words would leave our mouths but drop nearly instantly to the floor. you took to speaking very close to my ear so that your meaning would not be lost to the filmy light straining through the dirty windows. this light would make rectangular patches of the hardwood floors glow, but did not reflect, did not expand, and so most of the house remained in shadow, even though it was mid-day.

i wandered up the main staircase to the second floor while i listened to you rattling around in the back of the house, maybe in the kitchen. were you, was i planning on buying the place? why were we here? i couldn't remember. the stairs were silent, the floorboards did not creak. i felt grains under my hand as i slid my palm up the warm wooden bannister and looked back to see i'd left a long thick gleaming trail in the dust. all the doors on the second floor were closed and the hallway was dark. still, i was not afraid.

i rounded a corner and you surprised me by appearing at the other end of the corridor. "secret stairs from the kitchen!" you explained, your eyes glittering in conspiracy. "how fun is that?" i grinned. "come with," you urged me, grabbing my hand and pulling me towards a narrow door that was nearly invisible in the wall.

we pulled it open. it was a landing, with the stairs that headed down to the kitchen on our right and stairs that led up to places unknown on the left. you pulled me left, behind you. it was narrow, so narrow my hips were making whispering noises against the walls as we took step after step. i noticed your shoes, your jeans, your belt, your ass. my body tensed up suddenly, in a thrilling way.

at the top there was another door but it was locked. you pulled a skeleton key from your pocket and slipped it into the keyhole. in a metallic rattling moment, the door swung open and i followed you in.

the attic was clean and bare, free of the dust that plagued the rest of the old house. against the wall under the circle-shaped window that looked out over the front yard was a large old cot made up with bohemian bedding, none of it matching. you turned and looked at me, breathless. i was not sure i understood. "what..." i said, about to put a voice to my questions. you stopped me with an unexpected kiss that was sudden and hurt my lips against my teeth...for a second.

but how could i stay uncertain in your embrace? how could i say no? if you're ready, i am. it's always been that way.

we laid on the bed. i was naked and goosebumps rose on my flesh. you gently covered me with a lightly scented flannel blanket, fresh soapsmell rising from the air beneath. afternoon was fading with every light kiss you placed on the tendons on my neck, on my collar bone. with every warm palm and each nervous, shuddering breath. i like the way the light looks in here, at this time, with the grey day fading to blue evening. i took what you gave; you took me.

molly, i dreamed about you last night. somehow we got our kids sitters and went together to see a documentary about miro's life, that was airing at this wine-making college. the movie talked a lot about his early life, before he met you, and showed how he had adopted this little chocolate point siamese cat with one eye. i got really excited at that point and said, "molly, molly, that was OUR cat! that was bagheera!" and you patted my hand and said, "yes, i know. the cat got lost during one of miro's moves and you guys found him and took him in. i've know it all along." and i was just stunned that we'd had this connection pre-LJ, however loose it was.

then the movie was over and we were leaving and you were giving me a ride in your car. it was parked next to this hotrod and the hotrod was parked so close that i couldn't open the passenger side door. a guy got into it and sped off, peeling his tires really obnoxiously. he then tore around the parking lot a couple times doing donuts and leaving skid marks. finally he pulled up to where we were again and got out. "i'm thinking i might buy this car but i think the guy selling it is overcharging. what do you think?" he asked us. you just shook your head and said, "i think you're a major fucking douchebag, is what i think." i started laughing so hard i woke myself up.

When you are old and grey and full of sleep,
And nodding by the fire, take down this book,
And slowly read, and dream of the soft look
Your eyes had once, and of their shadows deep;
How many loved your moments of glad grace,
And loved your beauty with love false or true,
But one man loved the pilgrim Soul in you,
And loved the sorrows of your changing face;
And bending down beside the glowing bars,
Murmur, a little sadly, how Love fled
And paced upon the mountains overhead
And hid his face amid a crowd of stars.

William Butler Yeats

how this will end

it bothers me to think that the slippery, delicate morsels of lovewords that fell so easily from your lips to my ears can disintegrate and vanish so utterly.

i can lay awake for hours in the stuffy bedroom, the shades all drawn against the city, and sirens howling outside, and night heaving against the window panes. i can remember how carefully crafted every breath you laced with your sweet nothings seemed.

where did they go, i wonder. were they so insubstantial that once you stopped speaking they simply ceased to exist? or are they somewhere else, in someone else's ear, heating their cheeks and awakening their heartrate? unfaithful declarations! i feel betrayed.

are they recycled, do they reincarnate, have you trapped them in your little dark heart and pressed them down from coal to diamonds? do they glitter, sharp angles, inside you? did they escape out the door the moment you turned your back and become breezes, or raindrops, or a single finch on a winter branch, looking in on me while i sleep?

i like to think they are hiding in corners and lurking in doorways. or maybe they are trapped in my hair. or on a cross-canadian journey, lodged in smoky inns. or, like me, they could be watching from the shadows, and waiting for the perfect moment to re-appear.

"hee hee. 'get her!' that was your whole plan, huh? 'get her.' very scientific."

i had an orgy with the cast of ghostbusters circa 1984 last night.

bill murray is a bit of a cold fish but dan aykroyd is packing! harold ramis was bashful but totally opened up after watching for a little while. ernie hudson just couldn't believe his luck!