The horse went far west, the human-wagon must have followed
I have new music. I want you to hear it. I want to come to your house. I want to find you next to whatever tree of your choice. I will pick you up from there. I will place you into my wagon and hope the horse gallops west. I want us to go there together. Drive and drive and drive. Towards the sun. I want us to relish the soft sliding landscapes past our windows. I also want to see the random dog crossing the highway with no house or any civilization nearby. The dog; I want to see it cross successfully, unharmed. We might be happy about that. We should also be quiet and listen to my music. My music should be loud. I can only hope that you hear it as I wish. It’s good music, after all. Not much to the ear at times, but the heart loves it much. Much much. I want us to really go towards the west. We should be wearing our sunglasses because the sun, though distant, is very blinding in the afternoon driving thing that I want us to do. I want us to hang some of our hands outside the windows. The other drivers on the road will be confused, but we won’t care. We will make shapes of our spirit birds with our fingers. I will not laugh at yours, but mine is okay to laugh at, I hope you do. But in silence. We will look slightly at the city moving away from us through the side mirrors. This will not scare us at all. You will want to touch me and I will feel this before you move your mind from the thought or your hand towards my knee. I will almost cause an accident. You will quickly jump to the wheel and I will look at you like you’re just a little bit crazy. It is in this moment you will understand my idea of seeing forever with you. You will remember all the words I said to you about the future, my hands, the absurdity of time and growth, about death and eternity. You will remember me from a future you once dreamt of. I will remember you as well. All the plastic yellow flowers in your house and the owls on your face, I will remember them. I will remember the sage hanging loosely in your living room air. Your room is quite alive, you should know that I know this. All this will happen while we are trying to bring the wagon back to control. But the horse will be gone. The horse’s disappearance will teach us about control. From this we will instantly learn that we shouldn’t ever try to control anything. My hand will bleed slightly from something we both didn’t notice. When you see this, you will want to fix me, but the bleeding wont stop. When I look at your knees I will find them bleeding as well. I might think of fixing you. I will not attempt to fix you. We will both look at our respective bleedings and forget that we are there together. You will cry and hate your body. I will be angry and feel weak, in a derogatory manner. You will realize that I might have caused your bleeding. I will do the same. We might laugh about this and move on. Or we might drive to the west and find the sun gone then cry more. You will remember your wonderful east and I will remember my displaced centre. My music will keep playing. Because it really is good music. You will start hearing the songs as you wish and I will cry because you will love them more than I do. And then instead of driving back home; we will never, regardless of our hearts, our wounds, our wishing and blood, we will never be. But the music will play on and the horse will be gone and the wagon will be there, playing the music inside of its own chest, wishing it was human. Wishing it was one of us. But it will only wish and then move on to find another horse to introduce my new music to.
…back to The Shadows.