Atlas Keighley
I think about that night on occasion. Sometimes questions rise unbidden to the forefront of my mind, and I toss, turn, and will my mouth to stay clamped shut. Your hands are soft, so I hum and ignore the dirt beneath your nails. The faint earth, lavender, and tobacco smell of your skin haunts me. Its ghost is gentle, warm, and full of love.
I’ve never asked. I don’t think I ever will. I am content here, accompanied by your open arms and sweet lips, kept whole by your affections. Though my bones creak, I am always cold, and your eyes grow dark in the evening if I look too closely. I am content here. There is something lonesome about us and our tiny cottage in the woods. I can’t remember a life before you. I feel no need to chase memories or thrills; I am fulfilled here in our Eden. We wave away the insects that come crawling to our door, and the constant, burning incense above our fireplace seems to keep them at bay when we are not inside. Our time is spent elsewhere, wandering the forest – but never back to the field.
I am so full of love for you that I don’t need to eat. My belly burns with the kind of heat that keeps me moving through the days. I grow sluggish and boring if you are away for more than a few hours, but you don’t leave me behind often these days. You grow more secretive; I grow more curious. You don’t seem to like it much. I keep that sour curiosity behind my teeth.
But this much I do know. I am not as agile as I once was. My skin is no longer supple. My fingers can no longer tie their knots in daisy chains, nor hold yours as tight they once could. But as we wander through the forest, a slow purple sunset falling over us, I thread my hand through yours as best I can. Beneath my feet, the cold, dark earth is patchy with grass, bending under the weight of dew drops. I focus on the sights and scents, ignore the nervous twitch of your fingers in my hand, and the smudges of soil on your bare skin. The smell of lavender and tobacco is stronger than ever.
As we step out into that forbidden field, I pray you do not say a word. I’ve never asked, and I don’t want to know. I think about the night you pulled me from the earth, but I do not dare hold onto the curiosity about what you had buried when you found me. From the earth I came, and to the earth I will return.
Reference – More Alive Than Ever – Leo Smith