the tale of dusty and pistol pete

Twilight sparkles and fades through distant white whispers being pushed by the moon’s breath. She is there on top of the hill with me. She is beautiful even then. Looking up in the sky like she knows something that I don’t… maybe it’s the meaning of life…maybe some revelation to the human condition. Maybe she just wonders just as much I do. She pulls her arms into herself trying to keep warm for the wind isn’t a blanket to keep you warm. I know I could keep her warm if she just asked me to. I’ve been doing that for so long I wouldn’t think anything of it. She had her eyes packaged in moist teardrops…two gifts of sorrow I did not know… for even in my dreams she makes no sense to me. Maybe it was from the wind maybe it was from the moon being dark and light all at the same time. She spoke to me in words that I didn’t understand but understood. ” You make me weak when I want to be strong… you make me real when I want to be gone.”

in flow of words we spoke like the wind…cool bittersweet words dancing around subjects but somehow adressing them directly…it is like a wind dance…a form so beautiful yet not really having any structure at all. each time is different each time more beautiful than the last….

“why do you do things like this?”

“if i dont i’ll over flow…”

“what do you mean…what will happen?”

“i don’t know…probably something amazing”