Monday, 16 May 2011
Through Low Lights and Trees
Everything is new and shiny. It all needs to remain so pristine. Us humans, we are messy. We make things messy too. So easy to lose but not to find. Everything is happening at once.
So I would love to write something beautiful, and to know that it came from nothing but the thin air of imagination. No connection, tie or strung meaning. Oh would it not be wonderful to know that memory, the songs of childhood or situations of happenstance had not a care in the world and refrained from the piece of writing I laid before you. That, living through mistakes and darkness was not the core to my twisty soul. But in these admissions I do give myself to you. Though beware, it may not be absolute. The river has not quite yet burst the floodplain yet. I use no comma as I do not intend for it to occur. I'll let you in because you are so special. I would love to once write of a metaphorical importance and know it is not the personification of one I may have pitied/rejoiced/missed/loved/sorrowed. Will I ever cease to be in limbo? Break the solace of ambivalence? Live. I would just love to write for the sake of writing. For you.
"Can you hold me like you held someone, you shouldn't have let go?"