Seized once and never again. -- Library

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Date Posted: 16:44:46 06/13/02 Thu
Author: Julian Emberson
Subject: Seized once and never again.

Julian found himself, once again, in a familiar position in his asylum of choice, feet upon each other, black Prada tapping quietly, drowned by the soft whispering of the poem that spilled from the lustrous orifice. Mint breathed out the words of McGinely. �Stay near me. Speak my name. Oh, do not wander by a thought�s span, heart�s impulse, from the light We kindle here. You are my sole defender (as I am yours) in the precipitous night, which over the earth, �till common landmarks alter, is falling, without stars, and bitter cold.� He paused, eyes the darkest they ever wore upon his irises as he looked down, fingers gaining a cold sweat gripping the gentle cotton of his beige medieval peasant�s shirt, flowing down over Gaultier blue jeans raised upon a table stacked with innumerable works of fiction, nonfiction and whatever else. He was hidden, safe from eyes that were sure to have taken refuge in the haven as well.

�Huddle against me. Give me your hand to hold.� He didn�t bother to read the rest, because a rope had gone around his heart. It was suffocating his chest, constricting his ribcage, tightening some part of him that he never quite wanted to understand. Guilt like this was superficial, he told himself, and it was hypocritical to feel it. Though, he was no longer inhuman. He was Julian Emberson. Capable of what he wasn�t before, capable of these superficial emotions, to be able to exist within and without. He had to leave a philosophy and insanity behind, to feel this� this guilt. Just to feel these pangs of regret not for the people, but for his actions, for these words written by McGinely, and how he wished to speak them one day. Perhaps he would utter them to someone very deserving, or perhaps to someone randomly on the wet streets of a foreign city. But his fantasy was beyond his true aptitudes.

And, funny, he had the chance to say this, no matter how much he told himself that hell, those weren�t predicaments to let these words arise. But he could have said them. But in some desperate attempt to drown further into these thoughts and regrets that he was having due to a poem and the lack of any other emotion seizing him, he whispered, �So might two climbers lost in mountain weather on a high slop and taken by the storm, desperate in the darkness, cling together under one cloak and breathe each other warm. Stay near me. Spirit, perishable as bone, in no such winter can survive alone.� He paused, blinking, eyes almost as dead as his monotone mumbling. And then, he added, �Didn�t you know?�

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.:: I'm In Too Deep ::. -- Claire Rierra, 10:08:27 06/15/02 Sat