Writing from a few weeks ago:
In a dream I saw myself on the floor of a cathedral. Beams of golden light, dancing with dust. A ceiling so high it seemed vaulted with stars. I was just waking up. Lying, in that half dream state where the world spins around you to a haunted cotton candy melody. Duvets and comforters and fine cotton, pleated and pulled around me like a bird’s nest. Each tuck dotted with a tiny jewel. And the ceiling is so high and so far away…
I like feeling small. And sleep-walking among redwoods or the trunks of pillars makes me feel safe. Echoes, rings of high heels on marble floors bouncing back to me from the lofty ceiling. A small noise when it returns to me.
And looking up at people. Tipping my head back, feeling my hair graze my back. I like that too.
And dresses that make me feel dainty and delicate. Fine-boned, slim, tender. Stepping along the broad bare shoulders of the dusty highway with the sunlight fingering my own bare shoulders. Being passed from one set of giant’s hands to another. A small bird, fragile, wings folded.
And the black beast of night pushing in around me. The hungry dark, gobbling at my footsteps, nibbling at my neck, biting my earlobes. Climbing on top of me, rolling over me in waves, pressing the air from my lungs. Hugging my body like an ebony glove over ivory fingers. I like that too.
And there are times when plucking dandelions from the interstate median sounds beautiful to me. Times when I am almost willing to throw all my principles away for one clouded night and one boy who tells me I am lovely. There are times I want to be passed around the circle like a pipe, smoked and passed along again. When I like to feel used up, beaten down, and trampled underfoot. Some forgotten blue forget-me-not with a little yellow center.
I’ve been asked who it is I want to be. I want to be sheltered. By starry ceilings and comforters and tree trunks, by tall boys and the terrible tangling dark. I want to never have to be alone.
I like feeling small. And sleep-walking among redwoods or the trunks of pillars makes me feel safe. Echoes, rings of high heels on marble floors bouncing back to me from the lofty ceiling. A small noise when it returns to me.
And looking up at people. Tipping my head back, feeling my hair graze my back. I like that too.
And dresses that make me feel dainty and delicate. Fine-boned, slim, tender. Stepping along the broad bare shoulders of the dusty highway with the sunlight fingering my own bare shoulders. Being passed from one set of giant’s hands to another. A small bird, fragile, wings folded.
And the black beast of night pushing in around me. The hungry dark, gobbling at my footsteps, nibbling at my neck, biting my earlobes. Climbing on top of me, rolling over me in waves, pressing the air from my lungs. Hugging my body like an ebony glove over ivory fingers. I like that too.
And there are times when plucking dandelions from the interstate median sounds beautiful to me. Times when I am almost willing to throw all my principles away for one clouded night and one boy who tells me I am lovely. There are times I want to be passed around the circle like a pipe, smoked and passed along again. When I like to feel used up, beaten down, and trampled underfoot. Some forgotten blue forget-me-not with a little yellow center.
I’ve been asked who it is I want to be. I want to be sheltered. By starry ceilings and comforters and tree trunks, by tall boys and the terrible tangling dark. I want to never have to be alone.
Salamander's Response:
With the beams of golden light - SO you. It reminds me of something else you wrote, talking about bubbles of light... I think you were talking about your room in that one, I might have to look it up. Your writing a lot of times goes back and forth between stuff that's amazing because I feel it and stuff that's amazing because it's so pure you, and Wendy is beautiful and so is Wendy In Words.
With the vaulted ceiling, it's like pure dream state. Amazing and you. And little feelings, like looking up at people...I like you in dresses that make you dainty and delicate. I like you beautiful, small, held in hands rougher than yours. I don't know. Something soft and infinitely intricate that needs your hands cupped to hold it from falling into the breeze. It's not that I like you weak, it's that I like seeing you cherished.
The night? That is you, perhaps, but a part of you I barely know, and it's not there in me. I love the night and hate the dark. Love screaming but deep down know it's just because I hate the silence. Night for me isn't about dark, it's about the light and noise that people create to get themselves away from the blackness that goes on forever.
And "I want to be sheltered" is probably the biggest thing I identify with. "By starry ceilings and comforters and tree trunks, by tall boys and the terrible tangling dark" is just beautiful. Like you. It fits.
Valentines Day is Saturday. And for the first time in my life I might have a Valentine.
Winter Ball: In the car he tells me I look gorgeous. We accidentally order the same thing at dinner. We dance all night. I get drunk at a party at his house and he smokes a joint with his buds. "Wendy, do you like Windsurfing Boy? Good. Because he fucking loves you. You need to hook up. There is his room. Do you understand? Good."
It didn't happen. He was too much of a gentleman. He drove me to my friend's house for the night, and at 2:30am Sunday morning he kissed me in the middle of the dark street. "I should go," I say. "But I don't want to." So we kiss again. "I really have to go....okay one more." And again. "You have to go," he says, and sends me off to a floating drunken climb up concrete steps to my friend's house.
"He was telling me he wants to ask you out but he is too nervous," is what I'm hearing all the time now.
He is leaving for Sun Valley on Saturday and I am leaving Sunday for Hawaii. People tell me they will keep an eye on him for me. We aren't dating, officially, but we might as well be. We are getting lunch on Thursday and Friday and I cannot wait to see what happens next.
Merchant of Venice closed this last Saturday night. He came on Thursday, opening night, and told me I looked beautiful and was amazing. He won't stop telling me and he says he's making me a mix cd.
On the downside, Batman Boy has started hitting on me. He grabbed my ass before the curtain call, and I didn't have time to slap him. He flirts with me and Windsurfing Boy is pissed at him for all the flirting, because apparently it's typical of Batman Boy.
But I don't even care. Life is too wonderful and it snowed yesterday night and the world was white and I am so happy these days.
With the vaulted ceiling, it's like pure dream state. Amazing and you. And little feelings, like looking up at people...I like you in dresses that make you dainty and delicate. I like you beautiful, small, held in hands rougher than yours. I don't know. Something soft and infinitely intricate that needs your hands cupped to hold it from falling into the breeze. It's not that I like you weak, it's that I like seeing you cherished.
The night? That is you, perhaps, but a part of you I barely know, and it's not there in me. I love the night and hate the dark. Love screaming but deep down know it's just because I hate the silence. Night for me isn't about dark, it's about the light and noise that people create to get themselves away from the blackness that goes on forever.
And "I want to be sheltered" is probably the biggest thing I identify with. "By starry ceilings and comforters and tree trunks, by tall boys and the terrible tangling dark" is just beautiful. Like you. It fits.
Valentines Day is Saturday. And for the first time in my life I might have a Valentine.
Winter Ball: In the car he tells me I look gorgeous. We accidentally order the same thing at dinner. We dance all night. I get drunk at a party at his house and he smokes a joint with his buds. "Wendy, do you like Windsurfing Boy? Good. Because he fucking loves you. You need to hook up. There is his room. Do you understand? Good."
It didn't happen. He was too much of a gentleman. He drove me to my friend's house for the night, and at 2:30am Sunday morning he kissed me in the middle of the dark street. "I should go," I say. "But I don't want to." So we kiss again. "I really have to go....okay one more." And again. "You have to go," he says, and sends me off to a floating drunken climb up concrete steps to my friend's house.
"He was telling me he wants to ask you out but he is too nervous," is what I'm hearing all the time now.
He is leaving for Sun Valley on Saturday and I am leaving Sunday for Hawaii. People tell me they will keep an eye on him for me. We aren't dating, officially, but we might as well be. We are getting lunch on Thursday and Friday and I cannot wait to see what happens next.
Merchant of Venice closed this last Saturday night. He came on Thursday, opening night, and told me I looked beautiful and was amazing. He won't stop telling me and he says he's making me a mix cd.
On the downside, Batman Boy has started hitting on me. He grabbed my ass before the curtain call, and I didn't have time to slap him. He flirts with me and Windsurfing Boy is pissed at him for all the flirting, because apparently it's typical of Batman Boy.
But I don't even care. Life is too wonderful and it snowed yesterday night and the world was white and I am so happy these days.
