writing
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We haven’t spoken in a while. Yet every time we speak it’s the same conversation. I miss you. I miss you too. Are we going to meet up soon? Definitely. And then the conversation goes cold. When do we stop fooling ourselves? There’s no point in chasing phantoms, only to trip on memories.
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Old lovers crawling out of the wasteland that is my memory. They have no right occupying space in my head anymore. Exile is best suited for them. And yet, I feel a subtle twinge of sadness. Feelings never really faded, only put in stasis.
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Once trust is broken, it’s gone forever. I’m not really sorry, am I? It’s more like I’m sorry for myself. The repentant liar. Hoping that my penance will save me from damnation. (written May 14th, 2016)
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It’s a family affair. Welcome to the breakdown of consciousness. Too emotional. Not emotional enough. Ricochet from one extreme to the next. No middle ground. But caught in this in-between of two extremes. Where nothing and everything collide. The void never looked so good. (written May 7th, 2016)
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Running away never solved any problems. Then again, I was never one to confront them. It’s all I had. It’s who I was. Was. Past Tense. Who I am now is still being written. It’s not about the alignment of the stars Or three women with sewing needles and thread. It’s not being dictated by
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All roads lead to Rome. Well, almost all of them. The trip to Rome from Siena was over three hours on a bus that made several stops. I became familiar with the route as I had to make the trip to Fiumicino airport a few times. Rome is an incredible city. It reminded me of
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There is still a part of me that looks for you. This unconscious thinking seeps into my daily life. A part of me is still so full of you. The things you left with me have become a part of my routine. I fought so adamantly against you on so many things. Defiance was my
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“Wow, you’re so tall! Do you play basketball?” I wish that I could say that I never heard this but phrases like that plagued me as a child and continued into early adulthood. My childhood friends and I were used to these comments. I remember one year we actually tried out for basketball, after years
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A man said to me Memory stuff will haunt you I said, will it cease?
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Who really listens to jazz music? I would love to know. Sat in a coffe shop listening to jazz. I’m curious if people hear the music or if it just turns to static. Or worse Silence. Silence is the worst. It takes up so much space. I feel the silence with every inhale and exhale.
Trapped In The Margins 