"We've been here before
Last time you scratched at my door
The moon was naked and cold
I was like a two-year-old
Who just wanted more"
"being caught up in a fever dream, he couldn't tell the difference between the lucidity of the dream... and the reality of the moment"
in this dream, he texted her at about 1 o'clock in the morning to let her know that he didn't want to be alone... that he "needed her". he wanted something "special" and he knew that she was always game for the same when it came to him. he had just completed a dangerous job and was feeling a sense of insane power. the rage and the passion of a vanquishing king was surging through him that night and he needed a way to express it. he had been testing his metal in dark places against a notorious group of thieves that scammed others as easily as breathing. that just as easily had no issue killing at the drop of a hat. in this year long process, he learned that he had the ability to beat them without flair, fear or fame. he scared even himself at the knowledge of all he could do and on this night, he had scored a windfall against them. garnering "winnings" he knew he could piss away... so he called her to help him do just that... and for a little extra.
he took her to a swanky little rooftop bar in the city, danced a bit and sat quietly for a few minutes. she cuddled up close... not sayin a word and he, sippin on some wine... thought about all that went down like a contemplative boss sittin on a throne he just became worthy to claim. he had become indifferent to his power, knowing he had a good run... knowing, it was all just a way to find out what he was really made of. he didn't like what he could become, but he was glad to have met that side of himself. it turns out... he was happy he chose the light early on but for him, in the moment, he wasn't completely resigned as of yet... the night was still young.
the adrenaline was beginning to settle into a sexual hum. the kind that when controlled, creates the mood that inspires a symbiotic need to f*ck hard... and love soft. the kind that takes hard, without thought, that which has been openly and outspokenly given by connection alone. they left that spot in a cab and wound up at her place... and it was exactly what they both needed. they were meat and potatoes on a bed of roses that night... washed down by a bit of expensive wine for good measure. rage, passion and power drove the nights' session... with marks left on skin as evidence of it all. he left at sunrise, went home... and crashed fast asleep.
he woke up late in the day... in the clarity of all that had taken place in his dream. he knew there would be a life to leave behind but he also knew that there would be some aspects of that life that could be sculpted into something beautiful. he came to understand that those newly discovered pieces of himself that added to his passion and power, never truly needed the danger that inspired them. he eventually came to learn how to flow in and out of them by perspective alone. none but less than a handful know the details of this fever dream... and that is the way it will stay.
"upon waking, he knew he had come closer to the warrior poet... he'd eventually become"
~moses apollo
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