Our Dirty Little Heart(s)
Originally Uploaded here by sp_clarke
Lately, the months wear on, steadily - as time always does - and I continue to be uncertain of who I am. Repetitive and unhelpful and negative, that refrain. The truth is that I am more now, greater, like folded steel. The sense of incompleteness drives me to distraction, but the blade in the end will cut thinner.
I don't think you understand how easy I am on you. Or perhaps you do, and that's the source of the silence. I wonder at the idea of longevity, and can't see the answer. Strange, as I see you, but for some reason cannot perceive. Shroedinger, you are both. Strange, I say again, to watch something burn so brightly and fade at the exact same time. Close and far, a Zen koan of human interaction.
A sadness comes over me when I think of you. Not a weighty one, but a soft and melancholy yearning. Our interaction reminds me a bit of the most, insofar as the presence of distance, scrutiny, and respectful exchanges of consideration. Like her, there is some myth to my affection, the copper of the hair framing your face burns more like fire than the familial yellow it more actually resembles. Between that and the truth, I want to cradle your face in my hands even though I don't think I could call you mine.
Written On: Home Computer
Currently Listening: Nine Inch Nails - Year Zero (album d/l)