writings, ramblings, poems & stories

worrying deer

when time had jumped from one in the morning to five, i asked it to kindly slow down, if it could. i wanted to go to sleep. my mind had other plans, however, because suddenly the birds were singing as i lit up a cigarette under the dying, swirling stars & thought about what it must be like to not be worried.
my eyes had adjusted to the darkness & i watched the puffs of smoke go for a ride with the wind into the dark blue cast above me. the smell of my cigarette was heckled by the perfume of wet reeds & mud. it had rained earlier that day, & the wetlands had obviously sung the skies praises.
a deer stepped out into the streetlight sea of my neighborhood below me, & i stood at the door watching it move. it was mostly shadow, while shades of brown fur & dark eyes glittered in the warm glow of the bulb. the doe took two steps & stood still for a while, taking in her surroundings i assume, as it was a beautiful night with much to observe. i figured the deer did not think about worry, or it's source. i took another drag & thought about what it must be like to not think about worry.
i put the cigarette out, smudging the idea with it & hoping the worry would drift away with the last bit of smoke. alas, it carried me inside & by the time i locked the door, the deer had gone.

I fell asleep that night after hours of restlessness, & I dreamt of discovering my own dead body. My eyes were open, & a single tear had dried on my cheek. No blood. I was wearing my favorite dress, & I looked nice for a body in the forest. The witness was not fazed. I watched the same body in an alleyway, a garden, & a beach in the early morning. Then, I saw it in the bedroom I occupied. The witness was still not fazed. When I woke, I couldn't work out whose perspective the dream was in, if I was myself stumbling upon the scene or a stranger. I figured it didn't matter, either would stand a stranger to my body in the dirt.