dry spell

I've got absolutely nothing. Again.

Too many X’s

Time stopped. The sound of the dryer stopped. The tv goes off. There was only the sound of the music. I stepped into the imaginary jail cell, closed the imaginary door, locked the imaginary lock and threw the imaginary key. Me now was on the outside, me then on the inside. The nostalgia was almost too much to handle. Painful even. And yet I wrapped the feeling around me like a heavy, soft fleece blanket. Unable to give it up. Drum beats could be heard in the distance. I let my mind go – not bothering to fight. More came flooding in. Me on the inside could vaguely hear me on the outside yelling to make it stop. But I opened to it, relishing it, not bothering to feel the guilt of it. More pain. More bliss. I wrapped the blanket around me tighter. I swallowed the lump in my throat – even the me on the inside had no tears about it anymore. I let the last of it come over me in a wash of ecstatic pain. And then it all rolled away as the music faded. Softly, slowly. I dropped the blanket to the floor and slowly opened the door to the cell. Reluctantly, the me on the inside walked out, joining the me on the outside. Looks were exchanged. The clock on the wall started to tick again. The sound of the dryer faded back in. I turned the tv back on. Back to now, and we've both come to terms with it.