ooh. that was noisy. please don't come back from the moon, i'm begging you. there is no room left here, on this plane, in this space. i tried to warn you...too late now, love. this is flowing up, over the brim...flowing over with interior space.
perhaps here i'll find some peace of mind, some respite from the swirling and the chaos. there is so much of it these days, all bundled up inside my head and waiting for to spill from my lips; i could go on for hours about why the cool of the early morning air and the soft light of the dawning makes waking up so soon not so bad. about how my wanderlust grows stronger whenever my television flashes national geographic, whenever my ears are filled with the sweeping ephiphanies of cellos and strings, whenever the reminiscence of an airport terminal crosses my mind. about how the government of zimbabwe is wrenching its people from the dirt and throwing them towards the ditches, sending them out from hell with nothing into a great expanse of even more eternal emptiness, creating a void, a plague of the waking dead where breath and blood used to radiate. i could go on for hours about where i see my feet traversing, and why i'll finally find a resting place... when i've found one. about the moment i realized that several pieces of my broken heart had been given back to me, and how i hadn't even felt them fall back into place. about how i long for arms and eyes and lips to wrap themselves around me, those connected to the body of man filled with music and question and the promise of comfort, but also of independence.
about how i feel so right exactly where i'm at.
it's taken me a long time to get back to this...at least four years, if not more. although i've found what i had, it isn't the same anymore. older and wiser and more difficult to stretch, yet its begging me to with voices made of equal parts steel and liquid silk. can you imagine the blending of steel and silk? strength in cold, dark metal...wrapped in that something, something so flowing that the boundaries you attempt to define diminish with each passing moment, lost at the edges that were never there to begin with.
[i can see it. me, green coat clad, scarfed, sneakered. mittens made of faded navy, clutching that thing. that beautiful machine! eyes closed, lips mouthing words only i can hear. rosy nose chilled by the frost, feet finding paths quickly towards the warmth of the indoors. but i have those moments saved somewhere deep...even when i hate them in the present tense, i'll find them happily upon a later time.]
the floor will eat us alive. i love you.