Friday, January 15, 2010

Something at last

It has been nearly a month since my last entry . . .

I’m not sure why. There are plenty of thoughts in my head. Words disguised as beautiful songs, but the lyrics refuse to be written. Empty notes like empty shoes by my bed. The soles a scrapbook of all the places I have been. But it feels as if there is nowhere left to walk in them. A little girl on her tiptoes, trying to see over the horizon. But it’s all too far away.

Or maybe it’s simply not knowing where to begin. Taking pictures of the darkness without a flash. Nothing but torn paper and dried up pens. Frantic scribbles in desperate circles, like an author nearing the perfect ending. The lies are what makes love possible. Truth is the slippery slope. Imaginary walls closing in. A fitting prison for the stranger I have become. Pretending I don’t care because it’s just easier for everyone that way. Climbing a narrow staircase to the next floor, but nothing changes. Just more doors and broken windows. The patterns different; the melody the same.

So many bridges I could cross or just as easily burn.


  1. A month since you've posted, but your writing has lost none of its power...

  2. amen to that, bard...
    I especially liked the empty shoes, poignant and whimsical and mundane; you have a gift for this kind of locatedness.