shesokaye
I think I collect notebooks. I didn't mean to do it. I just happen to buy notebooks and end up never writing on them like I promise to at the time of purchase. I envisioned writing sonnets and essays in the small, leather-bound notebook. I imagined the kind of doodles and sketches I'd make in the kitschy, girly one. An illustrated diary of my life so far in the red velvet one. What happens instead is that they all get stacked in a corner of my room. A couple of them have already had a few pages vandalized from attempts to be true to my word. Most are blank and somehow I like it better that way. Like the white expanse of unmarred paper is enough. Maybe it is. In the space is the potential of masterpieces that I could create from the graphite and ink that seeps from my fingertips and I am content already in this theoretical accomplishment.
Sometimes I feel like I'm on a pair of stilts. Not in the way that I am quite tall but in the experience the height affords the wearer - a sort of voyeuristic detachment to the environs. I do not know if this is me going outside myself and reaching some transcendental plane wherein I am no longer attached to my physical self or I'm just mad. Either way, STILTS!
My mind is in a frenzy, adorned with silver bells and cockle shells, I imagine diaphanous phantom elephants go in pairs - tumbling into an abyss. I am left alone with my thoughts after their magic dance, incomplete.
I think I've strung along too many guys in my time. I should have learned from the beginning though but I didn't. Maybe because I never felt what they felt then. Now I have though. Thank goodness, Fate was merciful enough to give an end to what would have been an ellipses of emotion - forever pining, forever wanting, forever strung along like a marionette willing to dance for your whimsy. Thank goodness, I got an ending.
I want a tattoo. A sleeve actually. I'd like a tattoo composed of all the words I'd ever said to you that have broken you down, built you up, made you laugh, cry, confused and considered the soundness of my sanity. Also, your name at the inside of my wrist.
My camera only has 2 megapixels. I hate it because it doesn't have the capacity to capture every tiny detail of you - your freckles, the slight dip at the corner of your mouth as you smile, the chocolate chip flecks in your brown eyes. It just blurs the little things out. It's sad really. Because it's the little things that got into my head and made me realize how much I love you.
I don't know if what I'm doing is fleeing. Maybe I just decided to change environment, people, things. Change is good. Permanence is boring BUT I am not fleeing. I leave with my head held high. I will walk slow and sure, knowing that each step sounds assurance that I am heading somewhere golden and it's about damn time that I do.
I don't know if what I'm doing is fleeing. Maybe I just decided to change environment, people, things. Change is good. Permanence is boring BUT I am not fleeing.