how. have. you. been.
it's been awhile.. inspiration has been lacking
i link my reality-detached mood of late to the dead tree branches and the slow to life green that IS spring.
where is it? why is it staying away?
in the old days, on my way to work, i would be so sad
so deliriously sad, if you can imagine
not at anything in particular.. possibly the mere prospect of the place, but also something else
something hidden
something ill never identify
i would keep the windows up on the hot, hot days. turn the AC on instead. music loud, droning into my ears.
vibrating my sternum with the persistent bass
scenic routes with the heavily laden branches - green, droopy canopies that cover me up - shade me from the sky.
i would leave for work way early, just so that i could take these routes.
they were the only haven i had, back then.
when i left, i stayed away from those roads. every bump, every view and every tree. every hill and every house. they screamed of what was. what should have still been.
i avoided them like they would kill me
and they might've
someday, somehow
then after awhile i started being masochistic towards my emotions
i would drive out out out until i got to these places of the past.
i would park, drive slowly. sometimes get out of the car and just sit at the side of the road.
i would play the old mixes, hear the old songs. feel my bones shake to the same old beat.
it was so comfortably painful.
oh i was am so melodramatic.
i still do those things sometimes.
sometimes
when the air is right and the color of the day is reminiscent of back then
i can feel that same old comforting ache.
then other times, conditions are unfavourable
and i feel nothing
i feel like im wasting precious gasoline.
and running the time away - faster and faster and faster and faster
but for the most part, these days, things are just happy
content
the feeling that i have avoided for years.
boring, dull, content
there is no passion in contentedness
and i so love my passion
i see the dead trees and i hope for green
but i dont long for it.
i ride over those bumps and i see those landmarks
but they dont strike the proper chords
i want my chords struck again
i want my skin to prickle and my nose to sting and my cheeks to burn burn burn with whatever im caught up with at the moment
but im too content to go back out and search for it
and sort of
i realize
im a little scared of what ill find
again.
i link my reality-detached mood of late to the dead tree branches and the slow to life green that IS spring.
where is it? why is it staying away?
in the old days, on my way to work, i would be so sad
so deliriously sad, if you can imagine
not at anything in particular.. possibly the mere prospect of the place, but also something else
something hidden
something ill never identify
i would keep the windows up on the hot, hot days. turn the AC on instead. music loud, droning into my ears.
vibrating my sternum with the persistent bass
scenic routes with the heavily laden branches - green, droopy canopies that cover me up - shade me from the sky.
i would leave for work way early, just so that i could take these routes.
they were the only haven i had, back then.
when i left, i stayed away from those roads. every bump, every view and every tree. every hill and every house. they screamed of what was. what should have still been.
i avoided them like they would kill me
and they might've
someday, somehow
then after awhile i started being masochistic towards my emotions
i would drive out out out until i got to these places of the past.
i would park, drive slowly. sometimes get out of the car and just sit at the side of the road.
i would play the old mixes, hear the old songs. feel my bones shake to the same old beat.
it was so comfortably painful.
oh i was am so melodramatic.
i still do those things sometimes.
sometimes
when the air is right and the color of the day is reminiscent of back then
i can feel that same old comforting ache.
then other times, conditions are unfavourable
and i feel nothing
i feel like im wasting precious gasoline.
and running the time away - faster and faster and faster and faster
but for the most part, these days, things are just happy
content
the feeling that i have avoided for years.
boring, dull, content
there is no passion in contentedness
and i so love my passion
i see the dead trees and i hope for green
but i dont long for it.
i ride over those bumps and i see those landmarks
but they dont strike the proper chords
i want my chords struck again
i want my skin to prickle and my nose to sting and my cheeks to burn burn burn with whatever im caught up with at the moment
but im too content to go back out and search for it
and sort of
i realize
im a little scared of what ill find
again.