015. Memory of dreams

are unbound by time. How far off are daydreams?

In one alternate parallel universe born from thought, I took positive action at your last word to invite myself over to your door, with no plans save for work. No intentions of anything more. Silently, independently, we'd mutually embody that physical presence necessary to precipitate our respective work. A story or two might have been shared about my tablet. Midnight might have dawned, and I, politely kicked out by unspoken cue, would have then driven home.

As opposed to our actuality, where I fell passively wordless as if offended or nonchalant, and you spoke no more.

001. Premonition

That feeling of familiarity and prospect from summer/spring, combined with the 23.5 coincidence. Suddenly, words and contact to pull me above the radar.

What are you?

I cautiously withhold myself because I learn my lessons after a single slap, with never a need for more. My fragile sense of face allows for no more. Then, my greatest lament was the loss of a potential friend; now, you teach me that needs not be the case, that bridges need not always be burned. I should taste relief on my breath. Yet...

Glasses and night light may distort your strange colors, but even winter clothes cannot conceal how exquisitely you are wrought.

And beauty easily distracts me.

240. Cloudy eyes

How my world depends so heavily upon the assumed-functionality of this one pair of cameroid apparatus carved into my skull.

My cognition is visually-dominated in its entirety. Memory, learning, retrieval. Until the moment things break, we have a nasty tendency to assume that everything we take for granted is nigh invincible. Whereas...reality...was one of the first fragile occurrences I grew to learn, right alongside that other regular pounding inside my chest.

Accept no substitutes.

I feel weak in the knees from this early-knocking of the future. I was at peace, with the surety that you will come to pass in the far undistinguished distance, bearing little to no resemblance to a present past. But.

Cloudy thoughts beget cloudy eyes with cloudy anticipation. Is that how it works, in the small scale of things? Your colors haunt me, but not in the way of your ghosts.

238. J.C. Raulston Arboretum

This gets surprisingly addicting. At this rate I will need a dSLR bag to replace purses.


The sense of 'this is nice' continues. However, I can already feel the beginning of being able to relate with that sentiment. Despite however much I verb, it never does feel enough, does it? You see it as an incentive to explore and expand even more...while I take the opposite approach. Yet at the end of the day, deeper inside, we are still just as bored and unfulfilled. To which you say, 'Maybe I'm just an unhappy person,' and I say, 'I should detach myself a bit more.'

These subtle nuances. Why are you?

Layers

How strangely we choose to unravel?reveal?unveil? by how much, and when. Love Laws to be broken set in stone.


Lover, she said
You put the beat in my bones it's all I hear in my head you make it easy to see
If love
If love
If love

Dat feel when

creation is just one breath away, choked at the larynx, kneaded like imaginary dough waiting to happen between corn-starched hands. Slipping, somehow, wrestling the noose of its own umbilical cord.



Distracted by crawling thought rising like bubbles. Again with this fight for self-restraint, against sinking too deeply, too fast.

And perplexed by the color of a certain pair of eyes.

Hhh

I don't know what I'm doing or what I want any more. And that's a blatant lie. Sort of. If not for this unreasonable fear roping down my ribcage, I should be happy. Giddy, even. Maybe. Hopeful-hopeful and hopping single-footed forward to a prospective next time.

The second hand of my watch makes a tapping-scraping sound every time it hits that piece of crystal smashed inward on its face. Tap. Tap. Not loud, not muted, but a depressingly noticeable occurrence immune to the effect of habituation.

Imposition

I love assuming beyond what is actually the case. Or, maybe only with this one.

Watch the rest of today turn out so inconsequential that I wish I'd chosen the other thing, again. Looks like regret/dissatisfaction no matter which way I teeter.

-

Update: Enjoyable, but nevertheless inconsequential. All is clear; triggers are all that remain. Soft, tangible points of condensed emotion.

And a general reluctance to slash his fragile expectations.