standing at my bathroom window..
funny how the distance brings it back.
so many words, thoughts, dreams, smiles, tears, squeezed out at this window ledge..
the big old tree, now not only dead - but a vacant expanse.
a tapestry of birdsong, the red lights of the smokestacks quietly blinking on and off, as they always do - as they have always done.. and the light.
the precious light carried by winter chill over the horizon line..
cloud cover and hazy pastels, waking from sleep.
spring will be here soon.
another winter, survived - but yet again life reminds me i have no idea where it’s taking me.
i feel the echoes in my skin, the reverberations of decisions past still not quite dormant in my blood.. i still remember. i still cry, sometimes.
but only sometimes..
standing at the threshold.
aren’t i always?
by now, i think it may be my favorite place to be.
it is the place of making things so - all warm, rush-to-the-cheeks, dizzying feeling - the torturous lure of possibility slinking its way into your thoughts, dreams - until it’s all-pervading, and life is surreal, you tell yourself, with no consequences to be found (yet) - this is how it’s supposed to be.
i am a fool for my own emotions - as much as i try to, i am near certain i will never be able - or willing - to operate within safe, normal constraints. and this is how i get here - all fluttering free, heart in my throat, fingers aching to
f e e l
something beautiful, something new - something i haven’t felt.
maybe it’s okay to not know what i want.
maybe - i should just let the involved parties in on the secret..
then again - that wouldn’t be me, now, would it?
enjoy it while it lasts - the chance of the car crash only makes each excursion more poignant..
now this is all i have.
the moments, holy moments i have sacrificed at the altar to - again and again.
someone once wrote - if you want to make it last, don’t ever touch them.
unfortunately for me - even in my world of mystic intangibilities.. i need to feel the pulse.
i crave - from the deepest parts in me, the howling heart in me -
words filled with breath, written by warm fingertips, breath i want to know, fingers i want to feel - shivers and shakes, the first time is always the blaze -
and maybe that is what falling in love feels like -
the first man beholding the first illumination - so breathtaking that a force so perfectly destructive, so frighteningly absolute - could be struck by his own mortal hands -
isn’t it always -
(and in all my years, i have never been awake to watch the sun come up so many, many times..)