The Visitor for Blogophilia 50.6

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Art by Sol Siegel

The view from my seat in the park appears as an out of focus photo, or a surreal painting, the green of the ground blending with the azure of the sky. Red and yellow blotches dot the landscape. I sense the fresh summer breeze but I cannot experience physical elements.

A woman visits me every day. She comes in different guises, sometimes youthful vibrancy, sometimes mature assurance.   She stands facing me as if she has urgent news but no words flow from her lips. Lips naturally pink. A sweetness befalls my tongue, as if a recollection, or of a guilty pleasure.   Images flit through my mind, insubstantial, yet edged with sturdy memory.

Her perfume caries a familiar nostalgia. My hand, on its own accord, reaches out to caress her softness.

Tears sparkle in eyes that gaze upon me with loving grief. I do not recognize her but wonder if we were once lovers? She seems so troubled.

I mentally kick myself for not reacting to her as she wishes, with tenderness, but in my reality physical contact, like speech, is virtually impossible.

Her aura is one of regret but I cannot understand what she possibly could feel sorry for. If a woman such as she had ever been in my life, I would have loved her with all my soul. This much I do know. If anything it is I who is remorseful.

An image blooms in my mind that my sudden departure from her world to mine left her alone, sad and angry.  All colour, joy and laughter faded away. This knowledge hovers like a bird skimming the ocean’s surface.

It is out of my control that I cannot be with her.

She gives me strength; the strength to endure this existence far away from her warmth.

I look forward to her visits.

All too soon she vanishes.

I rest my elbows on the back of the seat, stretch my legs out in front of me and settle back into my reality on the other side of a dream.

Image may be NSFW.
Clik here to view.

Image may be NSFW.
Clik here to view.