who are the ones that bear the scar?
((RP MODE...somewhat))
It's an interesting life at times. I'm dancing now, which means I'm happy, but I'm in a collar (which doesn't work), and silks (which okay, I like, but not as an everyday 'slave' uniform, and NO HEELS--which means I'm painfully short.
Bah.
But it's making me reflective, as I dance under the House of Doves...thinking on how I see people, here, how I interact with them...the whole world comes in through my eyes, I'm a very visual girl, but also, I rely not a little on the energy behind those other eyes I see.
Here I see someone, and they hit me with the energy of their presence, before I notice what they look like. It's very odd. Those I only see the surface on, don't pick up any glittering energy trail, they're just..there's no there, there. If that makes sense.
Like the woman here who reads as all electrical spark, and the movement of great masses of crackling charge, to me--rather than woman. Or the fellow who reads to me as rock, smoothed by time, warmed by endless days of sun, so peaceful, so restful to lie against, lay my cheek against the sun-warmed surface, and feel the peace of the deep, cool center within.
All sorts of people, all sorts of mental images I associate with how they feel, mentally, to me. The friend who's mercury on a rainy day--dissipating only temporarily, always coming back together, bright as hammered light and merrily skittering along the surface of each raindrop. The man who's a walking wound, and I keep trying to find the right bandage, so he won't hurt so, breathing. He lost his SL wife here, and I think he mourns her loss more than he's told himself.
The two men I know who walk armored through all their interactions. The style of plate may be separate, but I hear them by their clinking, and I know both of them would protect me to any extremity. And the one man I know who is not armored, and who is the spare plain the winds blow over, open to starlight and sun, shade and rain, to any influence...and yet says he's unharmed.
There is a surfeit of green in his wilderness, though, so maybe he is.
The one I know who comes across as voices, heard dimly at the mouth of the dark cave...I feel if I went closer, I'd be able to understand more, but that would mean going into the cave...and something in me shudders over doing that...and the woman who's all sharp flint and steel and glass shards embedded in canyon walls, with music spiralling up, enticing people into climbing down...but at some point, the walls become weapons, and it's never a good thing when the prey gets caught...
The woman who's like the smell of baking in a warm kitchen, and the feel of arms holding close around me, and it matters not that she's sarcastic and bitchy on occasion, she still feels to me very accepting, very warm, very touchable.
---
Time passes. Time does. I've been here for a while.
This isn't everyone, but it was who came first to mind when I started thinking about this. I'm now home, wrapped in the arms of my neko fellow, staring at the crackling flames in my carved stone fireplace. Thinking. Reflecting.
Reflecting. Irony, that. I don't know how others see me. But I've always seen myself as the broken mirror. Shards of someone else's reflection, put together in ragged pattern, shining only while the light lasts. What good's a mirror when no one's there to glitter across its surface? What good's a broken mirror for, but to repeat the broken image into infinity?
But I know I'm more than that. It's just the first image that comes to mind.
On another note, the broken shards are currently reflecting a distant image. And there's no comprehension as to whether the image is walking away or getting closer. I'm living in the breathless moment between watching him walk away and watching him step into my arms. It's unusual. Usually when things are this tense, this early, I think of walking.
But that's not me, here. That's not what I do. And I can't...there's a part of me that's had enough, enough drama, enough complication, enough...enough. But...
...there is another part that holds to hope. And while there is hope, there has to be potential. It should be one of the inviolate rules of the multiverse.
Broken mirror bits or not...hope should be true.
A scream a shout far in the distance
Maybe the first or second floor
Curtains colouring the windows
Never see behind closed doors
A silent siege behind politeness
Domestic harmony for show
Lost in the mirage of a marriage
Outside a world she'll never know
And as I see through the real you
I'm falling straight into
A thousand broken mirrors
I can't hide
And outside the bright lights
Can't hide the pain inside
And I've broken a thousand mirrors
Now it's time
Now it's time
Now it's time
Now it's time...
Loving her children with a passion
Protecting them at any cost
Taking the only course of action
There's no more bridges left to cross
Who are the ones that are the guilty?
Who are the ones that bear the scar?
We must not leave our sisters bleeding
We sing this song for Tsoora Shah
And as I see through the real you
I'm falling straight into
A thousand broken mirrors
I can't hide
And outside the bright lights
Can't hide the pain inside
And I've broken a thousand mirrors
Now it's time
Now it's time
Now it's time
Now it's time...
("1000 Mirrors", Asian Dub Foundation)
It's an interesting life at times. I'm dancing now, which means I'm happy, but I'm in a collar (which doesn't work), and silks (which okay, I like, but not as an everyday 'slave' uniform, and NO HEELS--which means I'm painfully short.
Bah.
But it's making me reflective, as I dance under the House of Doves...thinking on how I see people, here, how I interact with them...the whole world comes in through my eyes, I'm a very visual girl, but also, I rely not a little on the energy behind those other eyes I see.
Here I see someone, and they hit me with the energy of their presence, before I notice what they look like. It's very odd. Those I only see the surface on, don't pick up any glittering energy trail, they're just..there's no there, there. If that makes sense.
Like the woman here who reads as all electrical spark, and the movement of great masses of crackling charge, to me--rather than woman. Or the fellow who reads to me as rock, smoothed by time, warmed by endless days of sun, so peaceful, so restful to lie against, lay my cheek against the sun-warmed surface, and feel the peace of the deep, cool center within.
All sorts of people, all sorts of mental images I associate with how they feel, mentally, to me. The friend who's mercury on a rainy day--dissipating only temporarily, always coming back together, bright as hammered light and merrily skittering along the surface of each raindrop. The man who's a walking wound, and I keep trying to find the right bandage, so he won't hurt so, breathing. He lost his SL wife here, and I think he mourns her loss more than he's told himself.
The two men I know who walk armored through all their interactions. The style of plate may be separate, but I hear them by their clinking, and I know both of them would protect me to any extremity. And the one man I know who is not armored, and who is the spare plain the winds blow over, open to starlight and sun, shade and rain, to any influence...and yet says he's unharmed.
There is a surfeit of green in his wilderness, though, so maybe he is.
The one I know who comes across as voices, heard dimly at the mouth of the dark cave...I feel if I went closer, I'd be able to understand more, but that would mean going into the cave...and something in me shudders over doing that...and the woman who's all sharp flint and steel and glass shards embedded in canyon walls, with music spiralling up, enticing people into climbing down...but at some point, the walls become weapons, and it's never a good thing when the prey gets caught...
The woman who's like the smell of baking in a warm kitchen, and the feel of arms holding close around me, and it matters not that she's sarcastic and bitchy on occasion, she still feels to me very accepting, very warm, very touchable.
---
Time passes. Time does. I've been here for a while.
This isn't everyone, but it was who came first to mind when I started thinking about this. I'm now home, wrapped in the arms of my neko fellow, staring at the crackling flames in my carved stone fireplace. Thinking. Reflecting.
Reflecting. Irony, that. I don't know how others see me. But I've always seen myself as the broken mirror. Shards of someone else's reflection, put together in ragged pattern, shining only while the light lasts. What good's a mirror when no one's there to glitter across its surface? What good's a broken mirror for, but to repeat the broken image into infinity?
But I know I'm more than that. It's just the first image that comes to mind.
On another note, the broken shards are currently reflecting a distant image. And there's no comprehension as to whether the image is walking away or getting closer. I'm living in the breathless moment between watching him walk away and watching him step into my arms. It's unusual. Usually when things are this tense, this early, I think of walking.
But that's not me, here. That's not what I do. And I can't...there's a part of me that's had enough, enough drama, enough complication, enough...enough. But...
...there is another part that holds to hope. And while there is hope, there has to be potential. It should be one of the inviolate rules of the multiverse.
Broken mirror bits or not...hope should be true.
A scream a shout far in the distance
Maybe the first or second floor
Curtains colouring the windows
Never see behind closed doors
A silent siege behind politeness
Domestic harmony for show
Lost in the mirage of a marriage
Outside a world she'll never know
And as I see through the real you
I'm falling straight into
A thousand broken mirrors
I can't hide
And outside the bright lights
Can't hide the pain inside
And I've broken a thousand mirrors
Now it's time
Now it's time
Now it's time
Now it's time...
Loving her children with a passion
Protecting them at any cost
Taking the only course of action
There's no more bridges left to cross
Who are the ones that are the guilty?
Who are the ones that bear the scar?
We must not leave our sisters bleeding
We sing this song for Tsoora Shah
And as I see through the real you
I'm falling straight into
A thousand broken mirrors
I can't hide
And outside the bright lights
Can't hide the pain inside
And I've broken a thousand mirrors
Now it's time
Now it's time
Now it's time
Now it's time...
("1000 Mirrors", Asian Dub Foundation)
Comments
*hugs*
And hi!
And if you want to take on Looking into that someone...won't turn down the offer, but your fella does shudder at the memory.