Words About My Thoughts

Harness what it is we do not understand. Hold it and embrace it’s meaning. Embrace its definition. Searching for trust, independently we search for trust, in the most shallow of spaces, in the most uncertain of people. Certainly she sees that. That unknowingly I put every ounce of trust in her. Certainly that makes a difference. Certainly. Hopefully. On this patio I see shades of blue, shades of blue with images of you. Rhyming just to capture what it is I thought I lost in you. If this wind could carry you away, sway us together. I wouldn’t worry about where it is you’re going. If you’ll find your way back. And at that moment, at that special time in the universe in my rear pocket I feel a vibration. The heavy anticipation of it being the response to that 5:47 am phone call is what motivates me to jump and fumble my phone. “I just love you.” That’s all she said. She just loves me. On the verge of tears now as I try to decipher what exactly that means, is she’s saying she just loves me and nothing more, that this warrants no response, that she is gone and I should know that she just loves me. She’s kind like that, just giving me something to remember her by. But what if I’m wrong; what if she is attempting to tell me she still loves me. Attempting to let me know exactly what it is she feels I need to know, that she’s willing to work it all out. A victim of frequent attention lapses so it’s no surprise when it shifts left on the blooming flowers, who knew that those were there. Might be a stretch but what if, I want what I can’t have. I may not be meant - we may not be meant for all of this. There’s a strong possibility I was just meant to guide you out the darkness and give you something to hold onto. Give you something real. And in this hour it hits me that the universe will take care of everything. I just need to be patient and accept that. Accept facts and with that thought the air doesn’t seem so stiff. That Starbucks doesn’t seem so cold anymore and those two miles seem like 200 feet. Clarity, all stemming from the life superstition about love

Words About Words

 Lets pretend that we have all the answers for once. That everything I’m saying can be rewinded and relived and if need be unsaid. Unsaid and never repeated, lets pretend that last conversation was a text message, lets pretend I got in a really bad accident and I don’t remember anything other that how perfect you are. Lets pretend you got amnesia, and all you remember is the slow kisses and the warm embrace. Lets pretend because reality seems to be suffocating you. Lets pretend because the smile seems to be as confusing as the tears at this point. Lets pretend because it’s meant to be. You’re meant to be happy, flower child with a load of smiles covered in glory short lived due to a systematic reoccurrence of bullshit, bullshit that only you can seem to shovel out of, bullshit that only I can seem to deal with and mend. Mending bullshit; since 2012, since our glory has failed - since blaming the life superstition about love has become routine.

Words For Rainy Days In Long Island

It hurts but with every worthless word we get more far away. Our transparencies aren’t accounted for when dealing with matters of intellectual complexities that stem from cardiovascular tendencies to fall and stumble upon beings that we believe can restore our emotional scales to even. The frail aren’t the women the frail are the ones who can’t account for their emotional displacement, those who can’t account for and sympathize with the ones they’ve hurt. Blurred lines indeed. But between the broken and the breakers, there is no line - just the metaphorical scope that allows each of us to retract every possible emotion that can be defined as true. The truth is in the pudding - in which case my pudding is banana flavored with a whipped cream side and swirl of emotions captured by my inability to properly verbalize them. When I love you is uttered in the still of the night who is it that responds? Who is it that turns and reciprocates the slow stated soft murmur of an individuals existence? Who is it that says “I know; I love you.” If you have to ask then it isn’t for you, and if it doesn’t fall on you then it must fall on the life superstition about love.

Words About The Soul

People still care about the soul. The essence, the idea that there is a complex make-up of an individual’s belief system. The idea that who we are is a much deeper concept than what we possess or the image we portray. The idea that a tattoo - like beauty - is only skin deep and even the biggest of watches won’t fill in the emptiest of hearts. Figuring out who we are is only part of the battle, the majority of it circles around accepting who we are. Believe that who you are is beautiful, believe that who you are is perfection, believe that what you believe in is the truth, a truth that cannot be adopted or reconstructed. Motivation at its lowest point but the purpose is pure. The purpose is to guide and shed light on those who need a light once in a while, those who need to be guided on occasion. Those who are obsessed beyond rational explanation and can’t seem to blame anything but the life superstition about love.

Words About Late Night Thoughts

I talk about you as if I no longer know you. As if you were once here and now you’re there and I can’t even hold you. Pardon the cliché rhyme scheme but it’s my only dream to be yours; Queen. I hope that makes you smile. I hope you read this shit and think “I fell in love and love brought me happiness”. Thinking of words to rhyme with happiness and I landed on “mad-at-this”, the closest calls with the most distant of women. The furthest thing from hate seems to be the warmth I can gather from your gentle embrace. Be gentle and wait. Be cautious with fate. See you and see me then see us for who we truly are while in between hotel room sheets. Hotel room suites, hotel rooms for my sweet. Long kisses with flips from wristes and the subtle glare from the golden mrs. I miss you, I miss us, I found trust and lost lust while exploring the bowels of love. It’s only right to blame the life superstition about love

More Words About Falafel

Happiness seems like a constant around you. The idea that I need you is a concept that seems to escape my minds intellectual make-up. Intellectual make-up, intellectually lets make up, i’ll lay down every foundation that creates a blush for you, as my lips stick to your soft skin. Soft skin, soft hair, soft eyes that shed lost tears. Lost tears that find their way onto my shoulders because your ex wasn’t fond of moving mountains instead he’d rather lay down boulders. Boulders and bruises, bruises from boulders, bruises from assholes who can’t contain and entertain so they’d prefer to restrain and disengage. From who? For you I’d shed two tears in a bucket while the world stares at me screaming “Fuck it”. I love it, I need it, like a soft breeze during weather at 90 degrees I need it. Like a fiend with a vein and no needle I need you, not it but you, not this but truth, truth that stems from your smile and curves. Curves that stem from your mother and our lord. Lord. I cherish you, I cherish us but I cherish you first and place all the blame on me, its either that or the life superstition about love.

Words About The Missing

I miss you. I never hugged you but I miss you. We never talked but I miss you. I never knew you but I miss you. Who were you? Besides my father, who were you? Who was John? Were you temperamental? You had to be, I mean look at me, I swear you had to be. Were you insensitive? I hope so, that way I can blame the sea of broken hearts on genetic complications and not the desire to be an over hyped heartthrob asshole, come to think of it even if you weren’t I’d still defer the blame. Cynical? The stories completely support that notion, and I almost wish you were in this god forsaken Starbucks with me - comparing war stories and obsessing over the past that haunts me. I wonder if you thought about me, if my existence brought about this blur of emotions you couldn’t seem to contain and thats what pushed you out the door. I can be sensitive to that, I can be understanding of that, understanding of the idea that you needed to get your feet under you before you could commit to something as heavy as fatherhood. The world condemns absentee fathers, so much so that the term deadbeat is synonymous with them. I can’t be mad at you for dying, thats unfair, I can only wish you had the maturity and sense to stay put, to realize that the result of your one night stand was going to need mass amounts of guidance and comfort. That there is no one on this planet that understands him and that burden kills him each day he is forced to be alone. At 21 I’ve come to believe that you can’t change the past, you can only come to terms with it and move forward, after all it is referred to as the past for a reason, something that you are now beyond. I miss you. I miss you because I love you, I don’t need to know you because whoever you were I love you. I guess you can blame the life superstition about love for that.

Words About Falafel

I was going to write you a love song but figured that it’d be cliche and most of the emotions would get lost in the middle of the snares and my obsession with an overpowering bass line. I figured words, you know, of the written variety - in oppose to the melodramatic singing I become so obsessed with being able to practice - would seem much more appealing. I figured that getting back to that intellectually complicated guy you fell in love with would be most important for what I can hope to convey. I almost felt like I didn’t love you. Steps away from touching you, I just wish I could touch you. I wish I could hold you still, I wish I had a genie that could grant all of my wishes to come true, that love could overpower your emotions and push you into my arms again. Shit I’m almost positive if you ended up in arms reach i’d clench tight and take flight. Come to think of it where would I fly? I’d probably start with a soft glide, and end up in a downward spiral towards love. To end up by your side… To hold you just once more, slightly impossible in theory but thats just it SLIGHTLY impossible. I am slightly obsessed, slightly amazed, slightly complex, slightly confused, suffer from severe ambiguity syndrome, but I adore your smile. Blame the life superstition about love.