I’ve Been Waiting For You.

Yes, you.

All these years, lying here, thinking of you, with the weight of this earth pressing on my eyes,

Waiting for you.

It’s beautiful, isn’t it!  Wouldn’t you like to just lie down here and not get up?  To imagine the breeze, hear the rustling leaves and the rattle of the ferns far above, and never have to worry about the rain?

Yes, you would, wouldn’t you.

So come a bit closer, won’t you?

Yes, yes you will.  Slowly, through the waving ferns, you will come to me.  You won’t even remember the slippery, tottering stones, or how you got over them, or what made you stop here in the first place.

There’s only me, and your desire to be with me, to lay down and not get up.  To feel the earth cradling you, giving way, accepting your gift, swallowing you.

Come to me, O Weary Traveler.  Stop your car here, turn off the lights, Come to me.

I feel the tread of your feet, your anticipation, your trembling need.  I hear your heart quicken through the rustle of leaves, and hunger for you.

And now you’re standing over me, within my grasp, your world spinning, Heaven fading from your reality, and I promise you,

I promise as I reach through the earth toward you,

That if you don’t find another place to piss,

I’m going to come out there

And rip your dick off.

– Prophetic inscription on a stone up in Hawley.