Raise me up, in a paper boat without a bottom, folded from my abandoned letters to you.
Raise me up, to see the twin vapor trails carved by paper airplanes, and the white lines carved in the(more) cliff face below by the desperate and insane.
Raise me up, to see the ruined dwellings of the many hermits who called this island home. The houses, the bothy, the rusting shipwrecks, and the caves.
Raise me up, with the creatures of the sea, to converse with the man in the boat without a bottom, to keep him company on his journey to this godforsaken island of ours.
Raise me up into the minds, the thoughts of those solitary individuals; how much of their essence was left unsaid? Unheard? How much of their legacy is remembered?
Raise me up, through the winding caverns and shafts that crisscross this place, following the bumps and cracks, the trail of candles, the tricking water, and the painted walls. How many others have seen what I have seen? How many others have walked where I have walked?
Raise me up, with the haunting melodies of those damned to wander the paths of this island for eternity. With the paper airplanes, doomed to fly alone. With the paper boats, doomed to sink and lie on the bottom of a bottomless crevasse. With the souls of the dead who spent their lives here, of all places.
Raise me up, to the top of the towering beacon.(less)
raise me up,
when I'm drowning in my blood
deep under the depths of insanity.
raise me up, when I've suffocated in
(more) and filthy vanity.
raise me up to the light and breathe me when im dying just for you to see me.
raise me up when I'm broken,
laying on the pier.
raise me up when my clothes are soaken,
from all the tears.
or just leave me unspoken,
through the all years.(less)
"Just calm the fuck down already, your presentation is perfect, just like it always is." Lovino consoled, or as well as Lovino Vargas could console with gruff words and a low baritone voice.
Ludwig sighed heavily in response, frowning at his computer a moment more. "Are you sure?(more) Everything is legible, easy to underst--" The words were silenced with an indignant sound as slim hands ruffled through blonde strands of hair, upsetting the normal strict order of his usual hairstyle. "How many times must I say that I want you to leave my hair alone?" He asked, brushing his bangs from his eyes.
"About as many times as I want to fuck with it," Lovino retorted without care, reaching out to slap Ludwig's hands away. Before the blonde could respond to the harsh treatment, those same hands were now curling into his hair as warm lips pressed a firm kiss to his own. "I told you the fuckin' presentation was fine, so stop fussing over it. You haven't been in bed with me for three days." The /I miss you/ was silent, as it was always silent with Lovino, but Ludwig was more capable of reading the voiceless words he tacked onto the ends of sentences.
The grateful look the Italian offered once Ludwig responded with a firm kiss before pulling him upon his own lap made Ludwig's blood go warm. Despite Lovino's attitude, regardless of the selfish words, this man couldn't hide his real thoughts from Ludwig. And those little moments when Lovino paused to make sure Ludwig was actually following, where he'd wait for a compliment but dare not ask--just the fact that Ludwig mattered /that much/ to him was enough to make the German feel like he was on top of the world.(less)
I sat on this floor. It was littered with papers and pencil and eraser shavings. Crumpled scraps tossed aside. Old drawings that I hated to look at. Old poems that I didn't bother read. Abandoned stories that I had lost inspiration for. Pages and pages of notes, exams, and(more) report cards. Chains around my wrists and ankles. I could hardly breathe.
I honestly can't tell you what you did. But something about you made me look up from my rags and broken pencils. A new project. I could have done it with my chains, but I felt the need to do more... not just for the project. But for you.
I stood up, and pushed my pages aside. You stretched your hand across the gap between us as far as you could, and I fought the metal links that held me back. Slowly, slowly, the bricks are crumbling.
Our hands together now. The gap is narrower. On nights when I still fought the arm restraints, you read my writing to me, and as I heard what I wrote, I realized how strong I could be...
You raised me up to my feet and told me I could be free. I'd rarely considered the thought, but disregarded it as an unreachable fantasy. You taught me to not just dream, but to crack the chains to reach out to them.
You've stumbled a few times. And when you did, I put my hands out and did my best to help you back up. Though I know I might fall down too.
Perhaps that's what we're supposed to do. Find someone we not only are willing to lift back up to their feet, but take the falls with too.
Life has become a collection of things sprawled on the floor.
The pencils, the textbooks, yesterday's bra, the skirt I decided not to wear, last night's thoughts, your face - buried underneath it all.
There was a point when I used to face it all. To clean it a(more)ll up. To sort it all out. And it would be all right for a while.
But it never stayed that way for too long. Chaos returned, sometimes creeping in slowly, sometimes crashing down at once.
I give up.
And bury your face deeper.
It's easier that way. (less)
"I want to go up," I remember saying, "Up, daddy." I point to the ceiling. It leaks from its browning corners but I don't care. I'm just a child and know nothing but the strength of my father's arms and how warmly they embrace.
(more) He grabs me and lifts me towards the sky. I loved that game. He would raise me up and up and toss me, and weightless I would become. Where for most this would be terror, I know he would be there to catch me. He always was. Always.
"Up, Daddy!" I say, more demanding, "Up!"
Of course, again. He's never home that often and truthfully, I just want him to hold me. But I'm a big boy now and I can't say that to him.
His thick arms bind and then I am launched. I sail up and up. I begin to fall and eagerly await his catch, but I look to see he has vanished. I fall into a black void where I seemingly tumble for hours. He's not there.
I awake, coddled yet constained by gilded bedsheets. And I weep. My spouse twists round placing her hand on the small of my back. Her smooth finger glide across my skin.
I quiet myself because I'm a big boy now. She asks what's wrong but I don't reply. Instead I go to the attic to find his picture. It's been ingested by boxes gray-dusted from neglect.