the hilltop, the sea

Created 24 December 2023 at 19:44

my bed is cold and soft tonight and you’re knocking steadily at my window. If I opened it, would you hug me? Wrap me up tightly and tell me it’s okay that I’m alone? Would you stroke my hands and brush my hair again, like you did when I was 8, standing tall on the hilltop like I’d never need to grow? It was okay that I was alone then, 
but I’m a little taller now.

if I stood on the hilltop with you now, would I be able to see more than I did then? When I see a mother bandage her daughter's scraped knee, would you turn my head to a girl walking alone in the dark? When I see a white dress and flowers in the air, would you turn my chin towards slamming car doors and cold kitchen lights? And if I knelt at your feet and I clasped my hands tight, would you show me the treasure, cobweb-free, clean?

my bed is cold and soft tonight and you're knocking steadily at my door. If I let you in, would you lay with me? Curling around my sheets like I'd curl to fit my mother, before I knew her name, before we got to know each other, her bed too big in a world too small. Would you lift me up, pull me down the stairs in a silent house to a plastic tree? Take it in turns to count the lights with me? I could count stars easily then, 
but I feel a little dizzy now.

if I went back to the shore, and I asked for your help again, for your honesty, would you still lay at my feet and whisper back to me? You will break. You will lose. You will hurt. And would you still curl yourself around my neck? Dangerous and gentle and wild and controlled. But I am behind you and I will hold you up and I will show you there is warmth in the walk. 

it's December 24th and my skin is cold and soft when you kiss my red cheek. The hilltop has stretched too far and I need you to guide me home, my flesh uneven and my knees skinned, but you tug at my feet to walk further. I don't know where we are going but it doesn't matter, you say. Your bed will be the same tomorrow, too.