(no subject)
ive been so happy all week. i really really want to keep this feeling. i really really want to keep you.
but jinxing seems to be my speciality.
excitement builds and builds and builds; and its great. i dont care that youre all i think about and talk about and everything. that i cont sleep anymore for fear of missing that miniscule chance just to say hey and talk about nothing at all, just bits of sillyness here and there; everything so perfect.
then whump, there goes the bottom.
thats just me being my melodramatic self.
besides, we cant expect to experience the feeling of going over a hill at eighty all the time, at some point the gentle breeze needs to appreciated at thirty. we need to notice the tiny flourishes of discarded over leaves still hanging around the curbs, the ones that seems to have a life of their own in the breezes we leave behind when we dont notice we just passed them while going eighty miles an hour to get over the hill as fast as possible.
too much utter disaster is happening; too much big business. its like half our lives we sit there trying to organize everything and figure everything out; hiring gardeners and flowertologists to make our driveways and turn-ins more feng shui so more money with people tied to it will come to our shops. not realizing that the there is beauty in whats left alone to go its own way. the grass is too green on satellite, i want some browns and yellows. show me something that isnt plastic. im tired of dyes. the only thing we should dye is hair and paper.
on a side note:
pilgrimages to memory lane remind me of everything i cant believe i forgot
but jinxing seems to be my speciality.
excitement builds and builds and builds; and its great. i dont care that youre all i think about and talk about and everything. that i cont sleep anymore for fear of missing that miniscule chance just to say hey and talk about nothing at all, just bits of sillyness here and there; everything so perfect.
then whump, there goes the bottom.
thats just me being my melodramatic self.
besides, we cant expect to experience the feeling of going over a hill at eighty all the time, at some point the gentle breeze needs to appreciated at thirty. we need to notice the tiny flourishes of discarded over leaves still hanging around the curbs, the ones that seems to have a life of their own in the breezes we leave behind when we dont notice we just passed them while going eighty miles an hour to get over the hill as fast as possible.
too much utter disaster is happening; too much big business. its like half our lives we sit there trying to organize everything and figure everything out; hiring gardeners and flowertologists to make our driveways and turn-ins more feng shui so more money with people tied to it will come to our shops. not realizing that the there is beauty in whats left alone to go its own way. the grass is too green on satellite, i want some browns and yellows. show me something that isnt plastic. im tired of dyes. the only thing we should dye is hair and paper.
on a side note:
pilgrimages to memory lane remind me of everything i cant believe i forgot