Wednesday, March 04, 2009
- 3:56 pm
sometimes the words come to you; find you on their own through the darkness of the night. other times they are hard to grasp at, like pieces in the wind but you know theyre there. you just need to find them.
there is reality. and then there are realities.
sometimes you have to leave the past behind to find yourself, and where you stand. to shed the layers of history from your person; to reveal a new oldness that had been hidden for too long. and sometimes you are changed, denied reality because this is the way its always been, this is how it'll always be, this is who i've always been (with). you deny yourself reality.
given that you only live once (unless your hindu and get reincarnated as a tapeworm. but id want to be a wolf) you'd hate to waste possibility in just accepting what is. challenge; stand up. freedom to be oneself is the only real freedom.
so there we were, shocked and who knows what else, and all for unexpected unexpectedness. you know how it is when everything seems just right; too right, then its perfect until you learn that no; things dont work that way; that we aren't all as loveless as we think we are, and suddenly, silence. you wonder if it was a mistake you made, and when you're done thinking, months later you get smacked in the face by the unexpectedly inevitable contact; and the phone keeps ringing (but fortnightly only. no promises.). and then you wonder how you deal with this.
so here i am and here we go. but its not gonna be a tell-all, no sirree. you take what light there is in the world; hold hope and love as lights that either guide or blind. then again, some people see well in the dark.
there are no hi's or hello's in this writing, nor highs and lows. but what there is is constancy.
how you are capable of replicating my thoughts, my nuances i do not know; how now i am at a loss. what do you do when you are in a dolorous nothingness? you take the stars in your tangled hair and you set the velvet blackness ablaze; you melt the emptiness away and are reborn in the intensity of its renewal. so there are others, and then there is perfection. almost literally to die for; but not worth living for, for the set of 'what ifs' that preclude possibility. still, i do not know.
a secret is only as dark as the world around it.
fin
hit the stars
