Anthology of dreams (drownedinwords) wrote, @ 2004-12-19 20:07:00

Rebecca

Rebecca stared at the knotted carpet. The patch by the window had faded, and was dotted with cigarette burns, crumbs and discarded paper. Too many days had acted upon it, rendered it thin and worthless.
This patch beneath her feet was ornate, decorated with intricate weavings, pristine.
She had started out as his fantasy. He had written her at night, with the dogged look of someone who craves. Ash had fallen on her pages as she made love to a dark haired avatar in a golden hotel room. She had been free and sensitive then, changing beneath every stroke, every new line a new idea, a new feeling.
In time, as they grew closer, he had needed a psychiatrist, and so she found herself staring down at him not with the fawning, aching eyes of a lover, but with the open, accepting eyes of a listener. He poured himself out to her, showed her his hidden secrets, made her an outlet, a safety.
Before long, as his outside crumbled, she became his shelter, holding him as he wept and called her name. He dreamt of her, then, mostly. He had lost his words in the dissolution of his past.
But now, after so many changes, she had lost herself. Where she had once been a whore, a mother, a friend, now she was none, and all of these.
Whether he jumped first, and stopped writing her, or whether she hit the ground before he had to is purely academic.

Written May Ninth, 2004