It felt like being left open on an operating table.
The surgeon was precise, calm, calculating.
From the first incision,
Scalpel to skin.
He would look into my eyes and reassure,
Every layer was gold, or dirt leading to gold. I do not remember which, but the thought that there was gold in me felt good… really good
Hindsight says I was more like an onion. Or better still, a candle; burning out. Slowly.
The surgeon was somewhat distant.
Reminding me that he was just a surgeon.
There was nothing more.
And he would only be around for a short while.
But how do you not think more of someone taking off the shield of your skin,
Digging to the gold of your heart.
And truly, I may have been burning, but candles are pretty.
So pretty...
He was so pretty, and he smelt… oh, he smelt of heaven.
If we could smell heaven.
Now I realize he smelt of heaven probably because I was dying.
And candles, with their flame and their glorious scent. You do not realize they are dying; burning out. Slowly.
And he was a paradise kind of afterlife.
A light I would willingly walk into.
Hindsight says I was the light.
He was just a mirror; a window.
So I left my light and walked into my reflection I saw in his eyes.
Thinking he was the light, my light.
But the thing about windows is that they are empty.
It is a glass designed to show you a reflection of yourself and the world at a glance.
But you smash through it and there is no soul behind.
It’s empty, and cold.
So I left my light and walked into what heaven must smell like and look like and taste like. And when I hit against the window.
Damn.
Fire and cold do not marry well.
They clash like thunder. Leaving behind a bitter kind of destruction.
It was like being left open on an operating table.
And when he reached the core of what he was digging for.
When the walls came down.
Like a beating heart in a baby’s hands,
It slipped,
Fell,
Cracked.
Did he forget that he was holding gold?
I do not know exactly what happened after that.
But after he left,
It felt like what I imagine being left open on an operating table would feel like; denuding.
My insides were cold and dwindling.
Gold and warmth;
Stopping
Starting
And stopping again.
