a whisper speaks louder than a thousand voices
Quiet noises, I think I love you. If I had any energy or semblance of waking movement, I'd sing the rest of "Wild Thing" to you.
I'm fed up with all the realizations of things I need to get done/deal with before classes start on the 22nd. (There's some stupid late fee on my housing payment for some reason that's screwing up my class schedule for this upcoming semester and not letting me edit it) That job I applied for at the ballet by school has already been filled. And still, my parents are constantly talking about the brand new prospect of my dad leaving his company to start up another office. It's stress about money everywhere and a dead realization for me that as many smiles as I staple on, facts are facts.
I realized I'm poetry, swaying and waxing eloquent about everything in the world. Nothing in the world seems to matter to me within that physical, tangible plane. That's just so...meaningless compared to the plane where human souls dwell, where human friendship and love are exchanged, and where beauty exists. THAT is the plane that honestly, truly matters. But then I forget about the real world and the issues that are coming back to bite me.
It's here...at 2 am...where I can sit and let the silence wash over me. It's here where I can sit and quietly fingerpick my guitar strings. It's here where I can whisper a song to the void with my scratchy-congestion-infested voice. Here it doesn't matter. Here my body convulses from the slight night cold. Here my stomach gurgles in want of a late midnight snack that isn't needed. Here, my calloused fingers tap against the frame of the guitar making the only noise the night has ever seen. Here, my thoughts and actions decreshendo to a trickle of frozen, sleepwalking ideas. It is here that life makes sense.
Katrina
I'm fed up with all the realizations of things I need to get done/deal with before classes start on the 22nd. (There's some stupid late fee on my housing payment for some reason that's screwing up my class schedule for this upcoming semester and not letting me edit it) That job I applied for at the ballet by school has already been filled. And still, my parents are constantly talking about the brand new prospect of my dad leaving his company to start up another office. It's stress about money everywhere and a dead realization for me that as many smiles as I staple on, facts are facts.
I realized I'm poetry, swaying and waxing eloquent about everything in the world. Nothing in the world seems to matter to me within that physical, tangible plane. That's just so...meaningless compared to the plane where human souls dwell, where human friendship and love are exchanged, and where beauty exists. THAT is the plane that honestly, truly matters. But then I forget about the real world and the issues that are coming back to bite me.
It's here...at 2 am...where I can sit and let the silence wash over me. It's here where I can sit and quietly fingerpick my guitar strings. It's here where I can whisper a song to the void with my scratchy-congestion-infested voice. Here it doesn't matter. Here my body convulses from the slight night cold. Here my stomach gurgles in want of a late midnight snack that isn't needed. Here, my calloused fingers tap against the frame of the guitar making the only noise the night has ever seen. Here, my thoughts and actions decreshendo to a trickle of frozen, sleepwalking ideas. It is here that life makes sense.
Katrina