Thursday, June 11, 2015

indirectly yours,

Here we are. Out of the dark and into the day. Ok, I'll start.
Well, it's relief I guess. You are so heavy. Heavy for me. You felt it too, and admitted as much, in the intolerable poetry that is your voice. Oxygen. The space to breathe, further and further away. Away, till your lungs fill with air and the thoughts are pushed from your head. Only then you realize you were drowning in them. There it is, a clean getaway. No ties, no calls, no checking in. There is nothing to say. No words to lift your pain. No words to tell you the answers to questions you already know the answer to. So let it be static. Let it be the white noise that fills your mind when you fall asleep. It's the wind, it's the butterflies. It's a wash.
The truth is, I'm not feeling very verbal today. Certainly not a day for writing precocious monolougues or narcisistic tangents. Mostly I just stay here in my circle, and that's fine. But sometimes I find myself humming the words to your songs; vowels and consanants that take shape within my subconsious. My litany of you.