4

I want to name perfect moments. They're not first dates or anniversaries or engagements or weddings, though those could be perfect too. Those moments lie in the everyday, where life is a quiet driver, speeding us along.

Perfect moments aren't always made in the grand gestures that seemingly significant dates bring. Those moments are found in the quiet ones where I've watched you slowly smile with relief when you thought I might have screamed. Or the nuances in the way you cut your steaks while I've struggled with a spoon. Or your fingers when you try to tame the wildest of my hairs as I try to fix yours too.  

But... The most perfect moments are the ones where you've caught my eye, and quietly, I knew exactly why.

Always, right there, life stopped its drive, just for a little while, before passing the moment by.

3

Have you ever thought of the sky and sea and see the boundless you and me? 

The two, separated by the horizon, always touch but never tango. They tiptoe around unwavering lines, trying not to be more than halfway. Lying parallel, they play, with color reflecting from one, or is it the other? 

But when night falls, and the world becomes quiet, you could not tell the two apart. The darkness merged the sea and sky as the sun slipped away. In the places where darkness screams the loudest, where you can see the two tango, they intertwined gracefully. Stars become buoys and seafoam turns to clouds. Their expanse doubled in those moments, and it almost felt as if the land became islands floating in air.

Let us be our own together and both infinite and endless, apart. Let us silence darkness with dreams as it sighs under the weight of impossibility realized.

Musings 1

It's running, like a giggling child ducking behind the racks of clothing in the mall; or the unbridled horse running past the houses and the forests with the wind in its face; or the fearful victim in a slasher-film whose fate may be sealed by indecision alone.

My dreams make music I can't remember with adventures that I certainly can; both disappearing with the fluttering of my eyes against the morning light. They say that you only have 30 seconds to remember your dreams or they're gone for good. If only I didn't spend those seconds fighting the creeping sun, prying my eyes open with its rays. Silly sun, peeking through my curtains. It's like that giggling child, playing through the clothes; hiding from parents who may or may not be playing, trying to convince me to join the same game.

My imagination changes the images with each sound and sight and smell. The product, a synthesis of the overwhelming sensations that I experienced doing absolutely nothing. Something I'm an expert at, I promise, my sedentary lifestyle taking a toll on my experiences of the outside world and its richness. While I eat my bags and bags and bags of Ruffles: Sour Cream and Cheddar; the artificial tasting flavorings accumulating on my fingers, moist and chalky, my brain races that horse.

It covers a million more miles than this mere equestrian mammal can muster. It travels from the ground to the tips of trees and rivals the might of mountains and scours the skies and untangles unimaginable universes until it is exhausted having received stimuli so overwhelming, it collapses in a fatigued ecstasy that rivals, and may sometimes even best, the physical union of two people: fucking, having sex, making love.

Love, of course, like those horror films, is scary. Not in the presence of indecision but the consciousness and awareness of the exact opposite. Love is the equivalent energy that should be invested into each and every single idea that should grace our presence in our clouded, and often oblivious and arrogant minds. Making love, here, is not the union of two bodies/hearts/minds/souls, but making love is the union of everything in me for this one expression.

If I were to do it now, for any idea that fights for my focus, it wouldn't be love. It would likely do an injustice to the incredible might that my imagination holds behind the dam I call my skull, throbbing due to the lack of water and sleep and stimulation. My fingers itch and twitch and wait. I wouldn't be making love, but robbing these innocent ideas of the greatness I could make them to be.

I'm not the right person now to make them, but I will keep my mind running so it isn't as stagnant as the person I am right now.

Tonight my mind runs reckless, and tomorrow it may fly freely.

But right now, it should join my body in the one place they're together.

In sleep.

2

Darling did you ever think that the streets are letters to the sky? That maybe the turns are the letter U and the lights are where we dot the Is?

Perhaps the cars trace over repeated lines, made anew with the bright headlights. Maybe forks are where I tell you Y and how we didn't see the signs. I don't know all the words these roads spell, but I'm sure there weren't enough of them, as far as I could tell. 

Even as the world turns, the letters are just made anew. Darling, if nothing else, please know that I [street] you.

1

Even as the salt stung her eyes and the sun cracked her lips, she could never reject the sea's embrace. Even as she shook on the earth, her footing was sure at sea. No matter how gently it cradled or how roughly it reached, it always knew exactly what she needed.

The sea knew each curve in her body and it knew each strand of her hair. The sea knew it could not keep her, and it knew she could not stay.

They spent the sunlight together to keep all worries at bay. When dawn became dusk, they lingered in the sand, before she walked away. The sea hesitated, then reached, watching as it pooled in her footprints. No matter how many times they did this, the sea always tried too late.

It's hard to say which was more tragic; as the sea would never leave her, but she could never stay.

welcome to my blog. let's see how all this goes.