Wasi has something to share

Understand - my ego is huge as the universe, but more fragile than egg shells and butterfly wings. So if you love me, tell it loud for me (and all the world) to hear. Declare it on each breath, as many times daily as your heart pumps it around your being, so I can take your words and weave a gossamer cloak of reassurance - a trembling shift, fine as mist but stronger than a knight's steel shell, made so because you spoke it. If you have affection, show me clear as my cat who, chest rumbling joyful at the sight of me, brushes love firm with her fur-fuelled greeting. Pads paws to toes, knees, face, and when I lay, assumes my back as her throne, lazes regal, from my shoulders to waist, her demonstration that she owns me just as well as I do her. If you love me, love, then testify.

I awoke, with my mouth dry from dreams I had writ as my waking mind slept and my sleeping mind, adept, created realities of worlds where clouds shone and trees wove shelters above us, as crimson skies wept. I awoke with my tongue swollen tight, heavy with the words I had uttered unaware; tales that I no longer recall, But that burned as they left their home in my heart. The memories, my own, merged with the world's, demanding an audience, compelling a teller. Ignorant upon waking, my tongue fell still. I awoke, beyond tired from the miles I had trudged in my bed. Travelled continents unchartered creating, in my own, a cartographer's dream; lands whose names inspire deserts and oceans and the flaws in smoky cystal-cut glass, each a glimpse of the Garden, perhaps. Melting on waking, as all proper dreamscapes must. I awoke and lay, prone, scratchy-eyed, waiting for the dreams to return.

---David--- I saw you stand tonight at a bus-stop, all nonchalant, so straight; not even proud, just natural, and the idea of a stick was laughable, that wheelchair some half-imagined nightmare no association with that faultless posture. I heard you speak tonight, not to me, but regaling some crowd of friends with your treatise on that album by the Arctic Monkeys (remember?). Languid, but by choice, your speech broken only by your laughter. I saw you write tonight, sat hunched at your machine, your brow a field of furrows - focused, not pained. And you produced reams, covered my landscape effortlessly, impatient for the space to fill with each new passage. I see you smile, not to chide, but gently mock my childish fancy. And maybe it is only fantasy, but I believe it real - I saw it tonight.