jackhappens
Do I have an interest? Surely, I do interesting things. but do I have an interest? The hours I spend partying and poisoning my body, we could call that an interest. I am alcohol-soaked, my lungs filled with smoke.
Separate separate alone on a shore that is distant and so very far. What is it to know the same privilege that you enjoy so easily.
Up in New England, down in the South that just isn't the South. Daily I recall the awkward, shy smile that greets me when we happen to meet for lunch. The meeting aren't planned, so I guess that's where the awkwardness he exudes comes from. He's only, for sure, perhaps wants to change that, but she's far too closed, worried I guess, to get to know other people. Doing the course of his stay at university he's only a handful a people--intimately involves himself with fewer still. But that's his way. I can only hope that maybe he will further warm to me.
He sits, silently, though I know he wants to speak. He nourishes me with his smiles. Even though I know he sees someone else. He isn't looking at me, isn't smiling at me, but I catch the lifts of cheek at an angle and feed the kindling with its flammable form and fuel the flames of blue-hot fire.
Time and answers. Neither, do I have. I only have my opinions, my perceptions, but answers not. The world drifts so steadily in its cosmic haze, so unaware that I need more moments to find the solutions to worries.
Skirting around all day, trying to find the truth. The resolution to my problems, will they be behind this rock, or this shrub, or this wall? A search could last for days, but as it seems, the answers we look for seem to always slither away.
Dearest beloved, we are together here today as a faint reminder of our past. By chance we arrived here at the same time, and by fate , we should leave here as separate as we came. How seeing your face makes me feel all worse...
He's bound in it every single day, and I cannot get enough of it. The way his form moves in the... it's just too much. Everything tells me that we would complement each other nicely but is that what it's telling him? Through the changing patterns in his shirt I see the aspects of our life together reflected in the weaving.
We saw a movie together today and I basically saw a glimpse of what our near-future would look like. The film featured some notable actors and phrases, but you didn't seem to pick up on the hilarity of most of the situations. Can I just assume that you're not very bright, that you have yet to experience the wonderful culture of cinematography?
I look back on the life we shared, before it was all shattered, torn. Was it a happy life? Was it? Or did I only think it was, caught up in all my self-delusion? I remember the laughter, the crying, though it all seems hallow now, as if all the sanctity of those moments was sucked away to never be retrieved again.
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writing since 2011 · 13 entries · 10 days shown up
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