Dear Artemis,
“I am a fool chasing stars.”
(Side note: You’ll have to forgive me, I am sick and have no idea how this sickness will play with my mind or should I say how the medicine has changed my thought patterns. I just hope it is not too much.)
The sun yawns awake, and I listen to the wind chases the squirrels through the trees. My hand lands beside me looking for you, but you had gone from my bed. I rolled over to see the empty space and then move my eyes up to the ceiling to read the words written there, “Don’t wish your time away.” Can I dream it away? “Words are weapons.” They are, and we sharpen them with knowledge.
I sigh a little not wanting to get up for the day. The summer heat has beat out the cool air from the night, and my flesh is starting the sweat. The heat brings with it all the aromas of summer; the fresh grass, the sweat of the day, and the lazy warmness that paints everything in the world. I yawn watching the dust dance in the few rays of golden light that has made it to my room, our room. The light wishes to reach me, to pet my awake and lifted from my bed but I blocked it out a long time ago.
Your bow is gone from near the door, and I wonder when you had left through the night. Wondering why you didn’t wake me? I close my eyes wishing my mind to fall back to some dream which had a knight, a queen, and a dragon in it. I wanted to know the ending of the tale.
Sure, I have heard the tale a thousand times before, but there is always something new in the words. The first time I read the story, maybe I didn’t notice the dogwood flower over the knight’s heart or the queen had stabbed herself with a needle and was sucking on it when the knight enters the room. Maybe, I didn’t see the dragon’s broken eggs in the back of the cave when the knight came to kill it. Was it a mother locked in rage over her dead children? Was it the last of its kind? Did the dragon destroy all the eggs?
These are questions I had wonder about until I read or dreamt the story again. I could go over it a thousand more time only to find new questions to asked, and yet, my mind was awake. The thoughts of the waking world had bled into me, and there was no way of finding my story again.
I open my eyes back with more lovely thoughts in the summer light than before. I let many of my worries fall to the side thinking of you, thinking of last night, thinking of you in my arms. I climbed out of bed, my legs protesting only a little, open the curtains to the full brightness of the day. The trees waved to me in the windows and the squirrels shy away from my body. (I didn’t blame them.)
The water from the bathroom cuts on, and I heard you in there. You came into the house without me knowing which I like and hated all at the same time. I found my way into the bath where you stood washing your hands. You smile at me with a wink. I pour my arms around you running my hands down strong limbs to your hands under the water. My finger dance with yours as I clean them. I take my time, being careful with them, and enjoying your touch. The warm water embraces us pulling us together letting us know all is right with the world. You reach up kissing me on the cheek.
I’ve always loved hands. I study them in my lovers. There is something powerful about strong hands of a woman. Maybe, this says a lot about my psyche. I find importance in hands because I am an artist, but I think there is more to my attractions to female hands than my artist’s spirit. If the woman’s hands are strong then maybe so are they. I love a woman with a powerful will and a bold mind.
You have both.
The water turns red from your hunt, although, the person who this little dream above is based off would never hunt. I couldn’t see her killing an animal at all. I’ve come to that conclusion sitting across from her in my classes. I’ve to watch her hands and her smile knowing she would never take any life.
I can hear many people telling me now I should tell this lovely huntress how I feel. After all, everything above is a great indication there is some form of attraction to her, but I shake my head wishing I could tell them, “You just don’t understand.”
I do not wish her to know what I feel because it is not her I want. She in the placemark for whomever the real Artemis is, and what I want is just the dream. I like having the dream to himself. It sits in my mind so very well and to bring into life would change it. I would lose some of the magic if the words became action. I can live with the magic.
Then there is (and this a small part of why I keep my feeling to myself) the fact we would not do well together. I’m not just talking about my religionist views or faith which would put a divide between us. I’m talking about my political and philosophical standing I have at this very moment. I see in Artemis as I see in everyone around me a very different way of thinking.
Normally, I would welcome this vast difference in ideologies. How else does one grow if they are not challenged in their thoughts? But with the way the world is now. I know these battlegrounds would only bloody us to the point where my feelings of Artemis or her feelings for me would die. “Words are weapons.” Yes, they are, and we will keep them so we do not have to make others bleed but I see too many people afraid of these weapons now. This is a dark path to walk because soon we will start making each other bleed outside the realm of ideas.
I can’t say for sure Artemis is this way. After all, I do not know the rough and smooth edges of who she is or the story of her life. I only know the mask she wears among people and the world. I know the mask is not the real her, just a small part of her but what I have seen we would not work.
This feeling, I find seems to be growing in my life as I am among more people. By people, I mean the situations I find myself in. Not to say there are no people out there who hold the same views as me, I know they are real, but normally, not in the places I frequently roam. So, this feeling I have is mostly my fault, and I understand that as well.
I feel like an outsider among many of peers. I listen to them speak and wonder if the words falling out of their mouths are what they really believe. I wonder if they do not understand the consequences of their beliefs and then I wonder if I am the same? I am, we all are. We are all fools chasing stars.
Then again there is a great benefit to being the outsider, and that is you get to consider the group with a skeptical gaze. I get to pick apart their augments with no real fear of the outcome of my inquiry. What are they going to do? Send me away? I’m already gone.
I do wonder, as I write these and on bad days, how much of this feeling is of my own doing? Am I keeping these people at arm’s length for a reason? Am I playing the role of the outsider on purpose? I guess, the short and easy answer is … yes. Yes, I am, and I know why. The Lord speaks of guarding your heart, and I am doing just that so the real Artemis will someday come along. When she walks into my life, I will open the gates to my heart.
A Writer
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