schbecca
I counted the tiles as I stepped past them knowing they would always have a background. I knew the order of the cars in the parking lot from the window I stared out of; holding back tears. I counted the moments I would record later and I counted what they would mean to me if I could ever look back.
An anchor is supposed to represent strength. To be anchored into something is strong. Anchors sway with the ocean ever so slightly. Change can't remain constant and unchanged forever. Eventually that anchor will be uplifted.
It's a wonder we are all in pain when we keep embracing falsehoods and counting on the masks we all put up and ignoring the core of each others beings.
Instill everything you have for me in the time we spend together. Show me the world you see. I want to know the things that deepen your breath and intensify your thirst for life. Show me where you live inside that head of yours. I look in your eyes clinging to the hope that you have made a place in your dreams for yourself as I have. I hope in every passerby to see dreams. I show the haven I escape to in my eyes and looking into something as intense as that breaks that connection. A bridge built of lies breaks under the pressure of raw truth and happy imagination.
They are coming out from the corners. Knocking on the barrier I put up. Don't touch this foundation, this is what gets me through. Why is your curiosity so strong? There's nothing I have for you, knock no more on my defenses. I need this strength. I've been through too much without tears. Just let me keep standing. If you keep caring I'll continue to break.
With each question and curiosity I bleed onto the person next to me. Have you ever wondered? don't you see how fascinating the world can be? The questions that wrack my brain as I sit stuck in a fluorescent light bulb are far off from the world of humanities. I look at the overgrown and unkempt beard as I'm told that my thoughts are ludicrous. I couldn't be farther from the truth. My curiosity is bleeding while I'm thirsting for knowledge. He sees me as a fountain of youth that's spitting back at him. I cling dearly to truth in a mirror that is unbent by the cruelty of years.
my dreams were uneventful. I floated on a peachy keen cloud of nothing. I never like to wonder what actually happened that I can't remember in my dreams. It's like drifting into a time suck and waking up to dragging my heavy head out of bed to the pot of black gold.