relations[; hips] & fishing

like a dog chasing cars;
what would i do if i ever caught one?

plenty of fish in the sea

that is my, disinterest in [g]
you r being
boring

and i have respect for your keeping at bay


and wasn't it einstein who defined
insanity as repeating the same experiment expecting
different results?

He was watching the whole time

I miss...

I wish I could forward the cozy feeling dreams can produce by dressing fragments of them into words that clumsily attempt to describe them. I wish these words could transmit at least a part of that perfect everything I have such a real memory of without physically having experienced it. The playful touch of fingertips on my bare neck and shoulder, the feeling of being pulled next to someone. Little details like a smile, having full awareness; almost being omniscient. It's as if telling a story while being a part of it; how quickly infinite joy disappears and is replaced by utter indifference. I miss [you] in my dreams.

I may swallow words, but this swallows me whole.

There was a big house in the woods on a warm summer's day, a family wearing happy faces and a white car that had three flat tires. There was a party, but I couldn't find my black dress with white spots on it and portraits were painted of young couples; the husband-to-be was to stand a little to the back of their bride-to-be, and I watched from the side as I had no one. Half of the family wasn't properly dressed and it all seemed to be falling apart, but all the while everything was fine.

I don't know how the confusing party in the back yard of the house turned into my senior cruise, and the ship had odd holes and a maze only I could solve. I threw a shoe at someone.

Someday...

I'll wake up and hug someone to death.

Wall of sound

I miss this; if you're part of this, then it'd only be fair to admit I miss you too, occasionally, for brief moments. The way the chords of an acoustic guitar reproduce with my soul, like when you poke fun at me and find the weak spot and I wonder if you know, if you know, do you know. Do you not realize.

You play the piano and you whisper words and when you are quiet there is nothing. I worship you in the silence of that nothingness, the nothing that is everything that it consumes. What I say means nothing, unless they are the words I try to keep from you to prolong whatever we have now.

But you don't know about the violins, they weep when you're gone and compose in your name. The violins that laugh in your presence. The laughter covers everything, blinds my vision and certainly I'll never see enough, if I'm looking in the wrong direction. If it's dark I'll still hear you breathe, are you still there, are you there, you're there, you're close but you're far away; enough just enough.

Excitement I thought I'd never feel again, but I'm still doing it upside-down and I think I'm happy. I'm glad. I'm content.

Slowing down and relaxing when I should speed up and hurry

I'm in love with things that are untouchable, non-material, never achievable and those are your words, the thoughts of another, the unknown; maybe simply the whole idea of love itself.

Those short moments that redifine everything right here and now.

Thinking you've found something you weren't looking for after you've lost track of what you were trying to find for so long.

Smiles.

The two seconds a look took longer than felt appropriate.