What did Nudiustertian inspire?
adjective; meaning "Of or pertaining to the day before yesterday.”
I am trapped in this,
A nudiustertian daydream.
Each step forward,
Drawing me another step back,
To that time,
That place,
Before I was prisoner,
To this world of cycles,
And the never-ending torment,
Of my infernal existence.
I cannot advance,
Cannot go back,
And change that,
The singular moment,
When I was lost,
And you were found,
When the world I once knew,
Was frozen over,
With the icy hands of death,
And all I knew,
Was this nightmare,
Pantomime of life,
Denier of death.
But reach to me,
Just once more,
And I shall know thee,
And know myself,
And know,
That life still moves,
Outside the dark shell,
In which I stagnate,
Neither wasting,
Nor thriving,
But living,
Until I am found.
Noël Coleman
She wore blue sleeves, the kind that bottomed out like bells. They had black markings on them. Blocks and swirls of darkness against what she dubbed the “bluest blue to ever blue.” She would giggle and twirl and whisper about how they made her feel like a fae.
It was a present from him. Though we’d try to forget as I traced their patterns in boredom. I’d always remember at the worst times, watching her drift along the border of sleep.
She would text me to correct my driving when she saw me on the road. “You forgot your turning signal.” And then, moments later, “Stop reading these, you’re driving. Idiot.”
I’d text her back because I was young and stupid and her words made me smile.
It blew apart on our nudiustertian adventure. A quiet path and a deserted boyfriend and tracking animals in woods we shouldn’t be in.
It blew apart because we looked too long. Because I said yes if she invited me along, which was every time. Soon there were three bodies on a small bed. Three young adventurers blowing bubbles in the graveyards.
Three doesn’t work if one pulls away. Or was it two? Sometimes it’s hard to see who pulled who.
But we were too caught up in whispers and stories and reading out loud to each other. We wanted tales of gods and creatures making deals from dripping blood. We wanted to tell each other why the spiders weave their webs or crawl beneath the dirt.
I found your eyes, and you didn’t look away. He caught up and left behind and broke away.
Three broken apart to 1 and 1 and 1. Filling our time with other kinds of love, but
there’s a name in a sigil gathering dust on these bones.
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