I realize you’ve always prefered the comfort of my mattress and that is why you’ve replaced it with yours. We don’t have to speak of the matter in public but I insist that you not go around doing the same with those who have been chosen to recognize the struggle the insects now have.
You’ve heard them at night scraping their wings and legs together in the dark. The chirps and screeches call fourth from the black and becon us. You may not understand now because you’ve not entered the last stage. Some go blissfully unrecognizing that they are in finality. While others, like myself, we can see it in the eyes. Windows dressed with dread.
Did you manage to subdue the air meat that creepeth around your flat? Did you not notice the smell emitting from the vaporous pours that once were legs? The flashes of memories cemented in recognizing forms from past existences that once lay in the hallway door to your room? Part of me mourns that these do not register with you. While the other is filled with emotions that are more than can be conveyed by simple words. The colors, smells and sounds are but a small portion of gifts we may not enjoy once they’ve entered.
I lay sleeping with my eyes open at night in a stasis that rests my body and allows my mind to wonder. Your mattress supports me in this endeavor just as mine did before it. Let me ease your fears about the matter of it bothering me. The comfort is enough that I awake with no pain or difficulty with mobility.
However, I am of the mind that we can now begin the process of recognition. That all things have come to pass as foretold by the soup can painter at the local burger shop. He knew then of the power of repetition which no doubt was gleaned from observing their calls.
So, I saved these boxes for many years but I can no longer bare the burden. If you hear from me with three knocks you will know I’ve gone. Tell them about the body and let the night fighters create gateways back to the inner creases that are my mind folds.
