My head feels like a cloud of dark, thick smoke has finally found refuge.
I try to shake it off through mental attacks, but it only gets worse.
I thought of you again last night, as the stains on the wall grew larger.
I closed my eyes, and pictured you standing there. I felt your three-dimensional aura, and I swear I could sense your touch.
You were talking, saying things I could not hear, as your mouth moved, but nothing reached my ears. It was as if suddenly the air had negated all wave activity.
I was terrified. I could hear the beating of my heart, but I could receive the signals that mattered most, your words.
I opened my mouth to speak, but I too felt I had hit a wall of muteness.
And then you disappeared. Leaving behind you just a very discreet idea of a scent. An intoxicating fragrance, and I knew at that very moment that this wasn’t you, this wasn’t me, this was an idea.
Ideas smell like this. Ideas smell so beautiful, so gloriously divine that turn your knees to jelly.
It’s for ideas we go on crusades. It’s for ideas we build castles. And it’s for ideas we kill.
I walked to the window and the night was bright and blinding. I closed the curtains again, and dust particles trampolined on the worn fabrics, like fireflies dancing around me.
Looking back at the room I noticed the walls had closed down on me.
The stains were now more visible than ever before. Huge stains of magenta. And I reach out to touch them.
As my finger feels the coarse surface of the wall, I can feel the damp material and the goosebumps arrive unannounced.
My finger slowly pierces through, the index first, and then the middle finger, and one by one they all disappear, leaving me with one hand.
I push my arm forwards, and watch as my arm follows through.
I feel the adrenaline travel through my veins. I fear it’s too much. I fear I might faint.
I put my right hand on the stain and it too gets sucked in.
I am a man standing facing a wall with two arms halfway through and now something from the other side has a strong hold of them.
It pulls me closer to the wall and my face almost touches the coloured surface.
And then I see them appearing through the wall. Two red-stained lips, like imperial ships that sailed with a quest in hand, to find the lost treasures of mankind.
They touch mine, they are entwined in a kiss that plays tricks on my perception of reality.
I feel weird toxins being released in my system, as the arms from the other side hold tighter to mine.
This vice of forgiveness, this strange contraption, is showing me what duality in one is.
There are no Siamese twins dying here tonight. There is only one big stain on an old wall. A stain in the shape of two in one. Forever entwined.