Followed *** out of the valley, light wreaking all sorts of nonsense on the oculars. I preferred the shade, the cool winds weeping between damp, vine-choked walls, but lingering any longer would be dangerous, as the valley tends to shut on the cozy and contented and how long since we've been either?
My eyes refuse to adjust to the light. It digs in, warm, gouging. Each step drives it deeper, piercing, and I'm left with the sensation I've been impaled on a beam of light and am merely hanging from it, drifting forward like a gondola, like a poltergeist.
Brighter still, I melt like wax and drip free, only spilling for an instant before I'm consumed by the light, dissolved, dispersed, and digested.
I feel I'm moving but I don't know it and still I'm moving but I can't know it.
I'd panic if I held any stock in permanence.
So far though?
No complaints.
Super-combusting in my own sweet time.

Love,
the dead minotaur

Labels: vistas