damp little flame

4/7
I only went outside once, for a minute, to pick a few lemons for a lemon-sauced chicken dad was making for dinner. The rest of today, I stayed indoors since it was pouring. Although, I wouldn't have minded going for a rainy walk. I absorbed myself in drawing instead, and it felt refreshing and a bit awkward to be working on illustration again. The little publication that accepted my poetry asked me to create an illustration for their cover. While I don't expect to be paid, as they are very small, I'm grateful to be working and maybe adding it to my portfolio.

For awhile I listened to a CSH related music music mix. But in the afternoon, when I was only shading things, I played more of SS. I had 2.5 hours left, and now I have 45 minutes, and I'm savoring every last scene. There's not much conclusion forming, and I doubt there will be. My guess is Sumire is Miu, or symbolic of her - only because they have strange connections. Or, Sumire really did enter the other world to find Miu - I have little faith she'll return.

My little flame - as with Tita or Sumire's narrator - is dim lately and fragile. When I find a new source of heat, I grow so inflamed that when I need to calm down, I douse it into submission. I hope I haven't burned up or drenched all the wood in me.

I made sure to put on waterproof boots and find an umbrella for going outside. It was only my backyard, but the weather was downpour and I didn't want to attempt barefoot since my feet already felt cold. I stood in it for a few moments, appreciating the enveloping sound of water.

-

Unfortunately, I don't remember my dream from last night.
I do know it was full and exciting; I recall being very nervous and pressured like a protagonist to solve a major dilemma. I woke up thinking I'd naturally have it visualized all day, it was so vivid with emotional checkpoints. Yet it gradually faded, then was erased to mere dust by listening to Sputnik Sweetheart.

I told them I had nothing in particular that was a low - which could be considered true. The lowness applies to many things, to a portion of my brain.

Maybe if I watch the rain enough times, go on the same walks enough, read enough books, talk to enough people, journal in detail in enough, fall in love enough, reorganize myself enough, I'll be enough to write. These are skinny paragraphs and I'm too early to be a minimalist probably. Yet I am.
I'm both early and old - so many of my habits are old.

It's about time, but makes no difference. I know no one will notice a bookcase differently with/out me. I'm in my imitation phase still. Like any good composer - in their youngest stage - I don't write as myself, purely, yet. I'm both cluttered and fortified by old ideas.

Sumire & I both know - it's just time & experience.
She & her creator are not the same,
I & her creator are not the same either.

She was given her tornado; dual forces combined in a storm, as she slipped into a dream.
I watch out my window wishing I could remember, and for thunder with this rain.


tmp