Sunday, March 15, 2015

Even flow

I wish I could tell you how beautiful an open road late at night can be but sometimes you run dry and there are no words, just a feeling you cannot convey, although it lingers, wordless.

I wish I could tell you how lovely the hazy lights are, the gentle, welcoming glow leading you home.

I cannot tell you anything.


I get rejected a lot. It's a natural outcome of the desire to be beloved being greater than how loveable you are. Not that I'm not loveable but people love the image they create themselves, not the person, and all the person can do is fail.

I get bruised but before the bruises have even faded, I am ready to be bruised all over again. The bruisings never seem to me to be connected. I just let it flow, each in its place.

Sometimes I think I consist in nothing, just an empty space, at best a jumble of concepts and memories that amount to nothing. Sometimes I think I am filled with inspiration and love and have so much to offer, you are lucky I want to offer it to you.

Sometimes I don't think anything at all and get washed by the stream, delirious in the tumbling of my soul in the flow of whatever it is that's happening to me. Sometimes I don't try to make sense of anything and sometimes I break it down to a succession of points.


Sometimes I think I can soar. The trees are beautiful in the late-summer day. The sky is aching blue and the warmth is visible beyond the aircon. Sometimes, just for a few moments, I feel glad to be where I am.

I have dark hours. I sometimes glimpse an oblivion so deep and pure that it sets off an agony that leaves me gasping for air. But sometimes a burst of colour wipes it away and I think that this is how the bird feels as it takes wing, as the salmon feels as it leaves the water.

Sometimes there is no one to be but yourself.


I will always think the best of you. It takes a lot for that to change. I think it is the best thing about me. I don't know whether you agree. People mystify me. There must be reasons they want me to exist but they rarely tell me. They seem not to realise that we all need to be nailed in place sometimes.

I will never stop loving you now I have loved you. And even if I did, there it is, there are the moments, the kisses, the caresses, the urgings, the bleatings, the madness, there they are, little points of light in a universe so still it seems to us it has a flow from one to the next, a deep rolling, but never moves, never changes, has always been and always will be, and so love never dies, no matter what you do.


At 9:57 pm, Anonymous Anonymous said...

Beautiful. You have a way with words like no other.


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