what you drew on it? like your heart does remember, what you have done to it.
I woke up, disoriented this morning, but not about where i am, but more like in time. My heart choked from the dust of the past memories, i was awaken by the eruptions of emotions coming from random events in the past, people that i met, places that i was in. So yeah, i woke up lost, so to speak.
I texted a friend and asked him, when we met. i thought if i know the number of the time i can start tracing whatever there needed to be traced and re-memorize and re-known then i will find my self again. i can re-direct my self. Drop the pin at certain place in past lane to start.
This feeling of content at times comes as a complete emptiness, a void at the very back of my head demanding fulfillment. Life is a bore at this stage, thinking everything is temporary, then whats there left to do. Thoughts; feelings, evolving, shifting, wildly and fast, like they can’t never decide a definition. And I am the one who is standing here, waiting for a conclusion.
Empty hands struggling to grasp the air, as if I could do it and shape it I would understand the whole idea of what Life is.
But this is also one of those time, so personal, something delicate is taking shape inside, the strongest voice I hear is “patient!”, ego would judge me as coward for not making any moves.
“You have become the person you wanted to be, tho you could never see it. And you know the Universe is vast. Every conclusion is another beginning of a new quest” says the voice at the back of my head.
I dont see kids running around in the park. I dont see their bright smile and stare from under my breasts. I dont see anything but that female figure standing at the tip of a cliff far above the clouds as if listening to the stories told by the moon. And the urge, is to be with her.
Thin air. It presents. It never left. Naked bodies, wash and move on after thousand kisses, the smile and fragrance linger a while more, but evaporate as I roll over another day. The desire to feel real, that this heart can bleed, but like thin air, how can I bleed when i can not feel. I am the memories.
He lives in the castle of dark blue mist, smells lavender, or at least that is how i like to imagine it. He howls his ballads thru night air, as an effort to take the hand of the moon and ask Her to dance. “A dreamer” i thought of him “The brave one at least” i added the thought. And what that makes me, really. He howls and howls his heart out to the empty sky where the moon resides, in the impossible distance. Woman are in and out of the dark blue mist, the story tells he has been fucking them by the window where the moon can witness, suppose to make Her jealous. His bravery makes me feel so small, my fingers even get numb tapping the letters of “fucking”. I am shrinking, but i can not turn away, believing his words could lead me to my own redemption. Cause, I too want to dance with the moon.