Tuesday, January 20, 2009


Like the wink from a dying man with secrets to tell. It’s funny. It’s funny how life constantly changes. The last minute funerals that all moments tend to become. I wonder sometimes, how people can plan for anything? Those little raindrops of surprise always tapping on the window with such calm regret. The rising sun, like paint thinner through the slats in my blinds, washing away the colors until everything is blinding white.

My thoughts today, like weary sailors landing on the Plymouth of hope; naive enough to think the location could make a difference. Always trying to escape the pain, the past. Like shirts I’ll never wear again because they just send the ghosts into fits of laughter. Redrawing all these maps I thought I’d finished. Close enough to the eclipse to go blind, but oh, so thankful I had the chance to see it. Because I wouldn’t have missed any of this for the world.

Yeah, it’s funny. Like painting yourself into a corner. Like being up a creek without a paddle. Like water, water everywhere, yet you’re dying of thirst.

I say I understand, but I never really will. Stepping off that spinning wheel. The hideous pottery of circumstance flying everywhere. My heart comes out of the kiln breakable, but not broken this time. I say I’m okay because that's what people want to hear. I say I'm okay, because hell, for all I know, maybe I really am.

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