There was this feather on a cliff. And I was chasing it so dangerously.
But we “Live On The Edge” was all that I heard her whispering. I laughed and turned around, for the feather had flown long by over the edge and was spiraling motionlessly towards the dark ground. Jump, she whispered oh so softly, chase the feather, chase your dreams my man. And I followed; my jump was devoid of its deliberation. For it was all but a push, a pat on my back, a casual gesture. Startled, I woke up and shook off the dream from my mind. Sat up and reached out for the bottle of water over the nearby table, and held it against my lips.
But the bottle poured beer, and my soliloquy escaped me, when I said “Wait, I want a drink”.
“What wait? I want it too” I heard her. When I turned and found her sitting beside me. My bedroom had a mirror-ball; my room’s walls were but mirrors and in them I saw her and me, in the light that resembled the twilight, I saw her hair flowing against a wind unfelt. Her beauty captivated me; her eyes fixed me with their gaze. I held the bottle out to her. With another wink of seduction and mischief, she took it from me, held it against her full lips and drowned my mind in her thoughts. After a sip, she wiped the droplets of the drink with the back of her hand and offered the bottle to me, which slipped (clumsy me) and crashed at my feet. Startled, I woke up and shook off the dream from my mind. I brought myself to my feet and stepped over the shards, one of which found a happy way into my feet. When I sat back down on my bed. She was beside me again, her warmth on my cheek and her fragrance within me. “Its just a thorn.” She said.
“Its glass, dear princess.” I replied.
“Glass?” She laughed, “Oh but this is a cliff full of thorny bushes.” I looked around and saw the feather spiraling down again, but I wasn’t chasing it this time. “We live on the edge.” She whispered again. I lowered my head to her lap, a gentleness in which I amused myself. I slumber enveloped me, but she was up all night, running her fingers through my hair.
My dawn shot new pain into my foot, which was red, and I had woken up to a bloody bed. With a crashed bottle on the floor, I stretched to mend and pull the glass piece from my foot, but what came between my fingers was a long thorn of a bush.