Standing At The Foot Of My Bed

The voiceless man waits. He sensed my hesitation. He will not leave.

I take a breath, inhaling slowly. The memory of my pleasure still lingers on my skin and it will remain with me after he is gone. I don't know if I will never forget it or if I only hope that I won't but now, in such close proximity to that moment, I need but twitch my mind to it to draw it up.

That isn’t the point now. That isn’t the purpose.

I inhale slowly, taking a breath. He isn’t going to leave until I open my eyes and look at him and I wonder what he’ll look like but I know that isn’t the point.

There is no face he can take that will not make looking at him hard and that is because of what he represents and who he is. It’s because of the fact that he isn’t leaving and he was here through all of it and I know I need to look at him.

He doesn’t speak, still. I sense that maybe he is voiceless and when I say he speaks without words it’s not just that those words appear in my mind.

It’s that he speaks in a different way. Not in sentences but in ideas. In concepts he passes the information on to me and I take it in and he tells me two things before I open my eyes and I translate them with inexpertise.

But I get them close enough.

This is necessary, he tells me.

You need not be afraid, he goes on.

And I am but I do it anyways. I take a deep breath. I inhale slowly.

I open my eyes.

The man at the foot of the bed is without form in any traditional sense of the word. He is handsome one moment and beautiful the next and in none of them are there any details I can pick out.

No hair color. No eye color. No skin tone. No height. No weight.

He is all of them and none of them and flittering between them all and it gives me pause and I hold my breath, realizing that I am face to face with something beyond my ken. Because he is not a being in any way that I can understand but he is rather a concept. He is a representation of a reflection of an idea and he is beyond simple dimensions.

If I am a multi-universal spirit. He is a multi-dimensional conceit.

And he is smiling at me now.

Smiling in bearing rather than in form and he is telling me once more that this is necessary and that I do not need to be afraid but it’s more complex than that and I’m only grasping at a part of it. I try to reach out and hold it all, I promise I do, but it’s like trying to grasp a fistful of sand.

It keeps on slipping away and all I’m left with is a part of the whole.

I can’t quite hold onto it and the more I try the tighter it gets and the more slips out but that doesn’t stop me and he senses my panic and he doesn’t turn away. Not yet.

He wills me to calm and he steps back, giving me the space to catch my breath, and it doesn’t help.

I keep on sensing the enormity of something that I cannot quite hold in the whole of my vision and it hurts. Oh god it fucking hurts.

Made even worse by the fact that I’m going from so high to so low and the panic seizes me and makes me dizzy and I rush, grasping at the sheets and scrambling as the sweat on my skin shifts its tune.

Pleasure no more. Hello panic my old friend.

I shake my head but my whole body is shaking. No my body is trembling and it’s my head that is shaking back and forth and over and over again and I’m telling him and he’s hearing me and he understands.

It hurts him but he understands.

He backs away like all the others and he nods at me and he says one thing, one concept that is crystal clear to me and I don’t need translation and I realize that is because he’s not saying it without words.

He has a voice.

He’s speaking it.

He’s telling me.

“Worry not. You're almost there.”

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