And If This Doesn't Make Us Motionless / I Do Not Know What Can
I wasn't going to post, wasn't going to write anything, and wasn't going to think about anything.
When does that ever work out, least of all in my favor? Not to say that when I write things down or say what's on my mind, that it ends up going particularly well either.
But now, here I am -writing- and I don't know what to say.
* The sensation on my skin as I opened the door and stepped outside; the smell of ozone and asphalt, and the way the parking lot lights were dimly reflecting on the rain-soaked pavement. I glanced up at the sky to see the clouds moving away. I listened to the sound of your conversation behind me as I turned my gaze to the lustrous oily residues swirling in the shallow puddles which I attempted to unsteadily avoid. Right then, I could only smile; there was no reason for me to do otherwise, because I knew that such perfect moments are few and far between.
* I don't know where it came from; perhaps it was blown in on a gust of wind from the storm which promised to pass us by, or maybe it had attached to the sleeve of an unsuspecting patron. Wherever it came from, it landed next to me on the bar: a single and perfectly arbitrary dandelion seed. He picked it up and twirled it between fingers that could never understand the significance of what they were holding. Then he blew it away, and I watched it float down through the resonating hum of a mostly empty bar and a sound check which would never deliver the anticipated climax. I didn't cry as it fell away, though I wanted to; more than anything I wanted to allow my tears to flow as it disappeared. Not a single person there would have understood.
* How different would it be now? If I had left it at a whisper that none of it mattered, that I should leave it alone, what would that have changed? I felt impossibly helpless right then; what could I possibly say that would help? The silence of frustrated sorrow barely held in check was familiar, and I did the best I could.
All of this writing and I still feel like I need to run for a long time, until I'm lost to everything I miss, and lost to all the things which are still left unsaid.
~
I didn't know you kept track I didn't know there was a score
Well it looks like your the winner and I ain't gonna play no more
Its over
Game over
You can say what you want but don't act like you care
It takes more than one person to decide what's fair
Its over
Think it over
~
When does that ever work out, least of all in my favor? Not to say that when I write things down or say what's on my mind, that it ends up going particularly well either.
But now, here I am -writing- and I don't know what to say.
* The sensation on my skin as I opened the door and stepped outside; the smell of ozone and asphalt, and the way the parking lot lights were dimly reflecting on the rain-soaked pavement. I glanced up at the sky to see the clouds moving away. I listened to the sound of your conversation behind me as I turned my gaze to the lustrous oily residues swirling in the shallow puddles which I attempted to unsteadily avoid. Right then, I could only smile; there was no reason for me to do otherwise, because I knew that such perfect moments are few and far between.
* I don't know where it came from; perhaps it was blown in on a gust of wind from the storm which promised to pass us by, or maybe it had attached to the sleeve of an unsuspecting patron. Wherever it came from, it landed next to me on the bar: a single and perfectly arbitrary dandelion seed. He picked it up and twirled it between fingers that could never understand the significance of what they were holding. Then he blew it away, and I watched it float down through the resonating hum of a mostly empty bar and a sound check which would never deliver the anticipated climax. I didn't cry as it fell away, though I wanted to; more than anything I wanted to allow my tears to flow as it disappeared. Not a single person there would have understood.
* How different would it be now? If I had left it at a whisper that none of it mattered, that I should leave it alone, what would that have changed? I felt impossibly helpless right then; what could I possibly say that would help? The silence of frustrated sorrow barely held in check was familiar, and I did the best I could.
All of this writing and I still feel like I need to run for a long time, until I'm lost to everything I miss, and lost to all the things which are still left unsaid.
~
I didn't know you kept track I didn't know there was a score
Well it looks like your the winner and I ain't gonna play no more
Its over
Game over
You can say what you want but don't act like you care
It takes more than one person to decide what's fair
Its over
Think it over
~