Into the Fluid

Don't know what I did Don't know what I said. I'm at loose ends with all these thoughts kickin' 'round my head. Don't know what to say. Don't know what to do. I only know having you gone leaves me quite terribly blue. But life has taught me lessons. And life has shown me much. I am the patient sort and I'll continue on as such.

My car abruptly swerves to the side of the road. A mere song on the radio brings me to a stunned emotional stop. The words slam into me with the force of truth and I realize they are the words you have been saying to me for so long through your actions your reactions your silences and your touch but that you have never found the strength to speak aloud to me. The love I feel for you has always blocked me from accepting the looming, sad reality that you will never truly return that feeling. Your heart is not mine and never will be, and I can’t make you feel for me something you never have and probably never will, at least not before it’s too late and I’ve taken my wounded but unbroken heart and found another home for it. My eyes fill with tears of sorrow and frustration and disappointment as I try to decide whether I have the strength to speak aloud to you any of this and set us both free. I wonder, if you heard this same song at this point in our affai

I watched every expression of your face as the blue hues turned and twisted in the twilight of dreams, the tomorrow of my memories. I placed your eyes in front of mine and held them there; a token taken from longing afterwards of the sky’s limit on the even after I hold you place that sits offen in my mind. The pinewoods hang their boughs for you, the sometimes light they do let through; it falls, not on, but near a cheek of soft and flow and always in my hand is all the mourning dew of lost is how I find myself if life is without you.

A small tree hung in the clear sky on the hill from my off the path view. The twilight hours were waiting for me. The morning sun holds most of my memories and its light reminds me: only the bright ones worth keeping, only the hard laboured sun slides are those you take with you. But you can't take anything, on another hill, in another time, and between two gypsy spins, I heard once said. So it all stays here, I say: In your heart or hung outstretched, it's all there between a small tree clear and the huge hill of the morning's night sky.

Think of rain in November, the all wet around, and drizzle all over. Breathe the snow, its fuzz while outside you're dancing. Feed the hunger with passion's fruit and wet your lips dangle across skin. Stretch your tongue taste all this vivid, its curls and burrows, the cold ice of Remember.

I thrashed in the contradiction they told me was life then layed back into the mystic; the cold hard face of the afternoon. It was all feeling and without strange supplications that never entered thoughts but poured out anyway and over the hills far away I sit there thinking.