I vaguely remember, through the liquor and the smoke, you saying something about “don’t move” It’s frozen there now like a transparent Polaroid that every moment since has been filtered through. My eyes are stuck on me, and you.
Sometimes I can feel the magnitude of my loneliness within the interactions I have daily. I imagine my moments with such intensity that my dreams evolve into unrealistic expectation. What was it that was said, what action-re-action, what was the moment you knew. Or worse, oblivion. Someone should have told me.
(I hope that wasn’t love)
I am talking myself into understanding what it is you’re talking yourself out of. I feel as if I am in a constant state of kicking down my walls of good judgment, leaping forward into a river I expect to be hot and feeling shocked at the touch of frigid water to my skin. Perhaps it is the act of kicking and jumping that I truly desire and you are just a reason too. But I think of the quite literal heart reaction I feel at the excitement of this routine and I panic at the loss of it. Its a connection of two worlds so similar and then without effort these world dance flawlessly before returning to their usual orbit.
“Hope has eyes for eyes for you”
the thing is, is that anything worth making is painfull… do not ever forget the beauty in that
im loosing something I’ve searched my whole life for and still have never found. it seams impossible to have dreamed for so long and have only fumes as evidence of such hope. not for lack of seeking eyes or anticipating heart. i search around ever corner, in front and behind on all sides. blinks and blank stares, faces plastered to printed black ink, being moved in motions of speed and imbalance. is this pain what makes greatness or is that just what our mothers say to shelf our heart breaks for later days. perhaps these days will never come but here they are and always have been, like labeled mason jars lining the walls of my life. then its days like today im adding to them.