one page; a tomb stone.
The imgage comes back whenever I can't sleep, sometimes with willies voice sometimes with the picture in the vonogut novel. Everything was beautiful and nothing hurts. The words echo arising a tempo that my fingers have no hopes of meeting because I don't have the words in them yet. Things are well...more well then they've been for a long time. I'm getting through life with very little in the way of distractions, I want to get back to school I'm out and spending time around. Yet, I feel like like I've lost something. I read over the messages saying I've been so busy we'll talk soon, I see a life wasted away and I don't see anything. Those are the people I loved when I was finding myself. Well I found myself and lost everything else from that point. It's funny, I can't remember the last time I wasn't persueing something, usually a person sometimes a goal. I'm not anymore there's nothing to persue; I have it all. I don't remember where this was going, I feel like i'm in momento sometimes, atleast that was my life story narrative of choice for awhile, I just saw kiss kiss bang bang and Downey Junior might've stolen that role.
I wonder when I'll stop living vicariously...how much of my life is my own? not owned by a line in a book, a small part of a song, the narrator of a movie. I want it to be warm again I want to sit in a park late at night staring at the moon, I want to walk miles with Ale pretending there's nothing there but us, I want to take pictures with sophia and lose myself in her eyes and that distinct way she smoked her cigerette when we were talking about something serious. What happen to the person I could spend everyday with? When did life become a wading pool? Why is it too deep to get out of? Do I really feel like it's under control...How am I to control how other people are.
Life's a crass little bitch; no wonder I like Bukowski.
I wonder when I'll stop living vicariously...how much of my life is my own? not owned by a line in a book, a small part of a song, the narrator of a movie. I want it to be warm again I want to sit in a park late at night staring at the moon, I want to walk miles with Ale pretending there's nothing there but us, I want to take pictures with sophia and lose myself in her eyes and that distinct way she smoked her cigerette when we were talking about something serious. What happen to the person I could spend everyday with? When did life become a wading pool? Why is it too deep to get out of? Do I really feel like it's under control...How am I to control how other people are.
Life's a crass little bitch; no wonder I like Bukowski.