s a busybody. screaming to have a constant. always moving. never progressing. shrieking at what the eye cannot detect, shake it off, shake it off, she tells herself. where she wants to be is one step ahead, but never progressing. who she wants to be is two steps backward and one to the left. always to the left. and she is sorry that she is no longer what she was to the people who fell in love with her former self. she is sorry to herself. her addiction, her affliction, is nothing more than a sad way out, but the only way in to her isolation and contentedness. remorseful, yet not regretful. never regretful. the one will help, but she is too af
she used to be so many things. so many things that she was confident in. so many things that she was sure she was, or could be, or wanted to be. so many things she knew she would be. she stills see all those things, in other people, other places. but never in her place, or in her. she still knows what they are. the problem is, she no longer knows who she is. she finds people who help her see it for glimpses at a time, but they are never anything she can hold on to. like when you see something in a dream. you wake up and want so desperately to always see it, so you think about it, and think about it, but one day, you forget to think about it,
she is the sunshine and he is the rain.
she reflects off of him in a beautiful way.
he moves back and forth around her.
his ambiguity is no comfort.
let it be known though,
that he certainly does put on a good show.
and she is always a part of that show.
and she always shows him how to live again.
i'm feeling particularly young today. not to say that i think i am not young. on the contrary, i know i am very chronologically challenged, if you will. but i'm really feeling that right now. that is why i return to the music of the time when i last felt like this. the immigrant song knows where i was last and picks right up from there. she
we all have an ideal vision of what we want our lives to turn out like. unfortunately for most of us, this ideal will always be surreal. we will never reach what it is we had always hoped for. then there are some of us who realistically can become our dream, but may very well give this up because unlike many dopey eyed twits, we don't believe that we can do what it is that makes our heart beat faster. the potential is there, but the faith is lacking. it is that lack of faith that keeps so many from becoming what those with the faith but lack of ability so desperately struggled to fulfill. i would love to make something of myself, but i don't