Monday, 5 November 2007

Remember, Remember...

Bonfire Night. Boring me will most likely stay at home but that is how I am. The rest of you, go out and have fun!


Anyway, I found a text I wrote some time ago, I think in April this year. It came about during a conversation I had with a friend (who has featured on this blog and who has a blog of his own). So there is a lot about me trying to pinpoint a feeling and a little of how I saw him putting questions to me and how he expressed how a dominant person might act. There was never that kind of relationship between us. He was not the one in the story and I was never the girl in the story but still it is something of me in it and something of how I see him. The text is still all mine so it is all about me expressing things and how I see it and never forget, it is only fiction, not for real!


'Why have you come?' he said, 'why do you disturb my peace?'

'I have come for to talk,' she said.

'We have talked.'

'I have come to talk about me.'

He hesitated, waited.

'So, you will tell me what you want?' he continued.

'Yes, I will tell you what I want.'

'I am here.'

She stood for a while, looked at him, hesitated, a frightened look on her face. He thought she looked like a little girl at that moment.

'I will talk,' she said, stopped short, waited.

'I will tell you what I want,' she continued. 'I want you to...want you to...'

She trembled.

'Who am I?' he asked.

'You are the one.'

'Who is that?'

'Just the one, the lover, the part that completes the whole, the Yang to Yin.'

'I am not,' he said.

'But if you were, then this is what I want.'

He looked at her intently, he saw her struggle, her fear.

'I want you to be the one that push me against the wall,' she said, 'the one who desires me, the one who tears my shirt open, the one who slips my dress from my shoulders, the one who puts his hand under my skirt, the hunter who takes his prey, the one who conquers and takes, the one who takes from me what he wants, the one who makes me know I am valuable, worthy of being taken, worthy of his attention.'

'I don't understand,' he said, 'what is in it for you, why do you want that?'

'I want to be touched. I want to be had and moved and done things with. I want your attention, your love and affection, your desire. I want to be the target of your wishes, the one you desire more than anything, the body you want to touch, the person you like for your pleasure.'

'But if I hurt you?'

'The pain will make me real. I don't desire it but if it takes pain for me to know I am real then be it. I want to be valuable, loveable and real.'

What will you do?'

'I will hold on, reach out my hands and cling to you for all I am worth, scared of losing you, losing it, your attention, your desire.'

'You want to have my desire but without having to do anything yourself but hold on?'

'I want no guilt, no blame, no pressure, no demands. I want to be a child, a nothing, a something that is touched and taken but have no will of her own.'

'This is silly, that is not really losing control. That is a dream, your dream.'

'I know,' she said, 'but I said you'd be the one, the one that makes the broken whole, the one that brings love and only good things. It is a child's dream an unreal desire.'

'As you said, It can never be real.'

'I know, but still it is there, still it has a hold on me, keeps me in its grip.'

'But what would you do, I mean, really do?'

'I would move, I would move my body, perhaps, in a dance, in a movement that expresses everything, my fears, my desires my whole. I would move to show everyone who I am, what I desire, what my wishes are. I would show my sorrow, my hurt, my anger, my fears and my pride. I would show my strength, my devotion, my determination to prevail, to live and survive.'

'Perhaps you do that already,' he said, looking at her.

She stood before him, agitated, blushing, fear was in her face but he saw something else as well. He saw strength and a will to live, to be part of it all and not stand beside it.

'But what do you really want?'

'To be touched.'


4 comments:

Paul said...

Janice, it may be imagination, but it's very real for all that.
It's very nearly 6:00 P M and no fireworks yet.
Warm hugs,
Paul.

Marcus Amenophis said...

This is more than a story: it seems like a deep meditation or uncensored introspection, as if one part of you is speaking to another, on an almost subconscious level (though translated into words).

Your quality of honesty once again shines through in an elusive, but intriguing post.

Dove said...

'To be touched', how lovely I think it often comes down to that. Not only touched physically but emotionally as well? This expressing what you want would be the hardest part, for me too, and why is that? You simply open your mouth and speak but it doesn't come easily. I feel her fear and struggle and desire.

Hugs
Dove

Janice said...

Paul, thank you, I think you hit the nail on the head. The emotions are real but the form is fiction.

Marcus, meditation is not far from the truth. Uncensored, I can't really tell. Your reflection is interesting, that different parts of my mind are speaking to each other.

Thanks Dove, you always find the essence of my writing. Yes, it is about being touched, the eternal desire for being touched.