(no subject)
The air around here has a taste of too much introspection and not enough impulse. I stood outside on my deck tonight and stared at the moon’s light across the tops of familiar shapes and pictures. Do we paint our world in different colors to be absolved of the monotony or is it just the romantic in us that inspires us to reach for more? One more day falling off the calendar. I’m in such a rush and I don’t even have a direction to reach for. How sad is it to think that each moment is one I’m never going to get back again. It’s only going to be 12:42 AM on March 17th, 2008 once, and yet, I can’t help but take so much of it for granted. Taking a vacation with my thoughts always leads a road back to memories of lovers in soft sheets, of warm light on naked skin, of lips and eyes and lights through trees in a stolen moment between expectation, obligation, and the robotics of one day merging into another. 12:44 AM and all I can think about is 10:45 AM when traffic sounds can call back to me over my stereo and the course is set for the indignance of narrow-minded bigots and self-important individuals with no respect or concern for the cause and effect of their own actions. I feel repressed. I miss late night conversations with someone who wasn’t telling me what I wanted to hear, to a mind that’s deep instead of automated responses in a timed symphony using slogans reserved for what people want to hear. 12:47, I should be in bed, but my pillow still dreams of two weeks where HE was near, and we lay there admiring each other thoughts like pieces of the same whole. Loving him is my greatest tragedy, even moreso that he loves me back. The air around him must be full of the flavors of my missing him, because I can’t find the strength to let him go. 12:49. . . good night. . .good night. . . I think I need to find him in sleep again.