Dancing like Stars

An actual match. Not forced. Not altered. A match. Pure. Innocent. Unyielding.

Here we are dancing like stars, creating shapes like planets and opportunities like meteors. We are creators. Artists. Hopefuls.

The days pass and we are aligned in that it feels like years. Decades. Memories. Yesterday was a year ago. Yet only the hours remind us. We are happy. We are young.

Moments tell us we have an eternity left. These year-days. I have no more reasons to count.

I’ve found my stationary euphoria. Marked it. Captured it. Watching it grow, eyes wide and heart full.

And Next

There are people you move on and away from.

To them I say, “I am not sad that I no longer know you.”

Experience is like the peeler to the fruit, carefully getting to what’s within. Most times I don’t like what’s inside.

“For everything you have missed, you have gained something else, and for everything you gain, you lose something else.”

Ralph Waldo Emerson

Tides changing.


I’m not used to the fresh scent of life pouring over me. So new. So exciting. It seems endless, like the ocean.

My breath comes deeper now, like the tides. Calm, regular. I find less hesitation.

The rhythmic melody colors me strange. Feeling completely natural is unfamiliar.

I could blame others for that, the status quo, the redundancy of lowered expectation, but I won’t.

From here I’ll just enjoy the salt in the air, the birds above and the promise of a new life. Fresh.

Footprints in the sand, the ocean calls me away from shore.

Timeline

Life is like a rocket ship through space. Quickly moving through what seems like…nothingness. Possible collisions. Surrounded by unknown. The furthest reaches are slicked with fear, black ice. Here we race.

We can quantify all the significant moments in our life. I feel like there’s a file drawer somewhere filled with empty folders. I believe them to be pre-labeled. Ready to be filled.

Life doesn’t seem to be moment by moment. It’s chunk of time by chunk of time.

Feels so quick. Like that rocket. Traveling. Constant. The deaths are the ends of journeys. We made it to the moon but how? It’s that. The recollection. The reliving. The remembrance. Don’t you feel it? It’s the culminating moments. Who we were when making our way.

We’ve been so many versions of ourselves and continue to change.

I’m not sure who I’ll be a year from now but there will be some part of me that I’ll miss.

It’s always about the way we were.

Disjointed Applications

Adjustabilty of my minds mental process has been compromised. Juxtaposed into the previous nights thoughts. Dreams. Replays. Here I sit stunted. Wondering all those pathetic wanders. Compromised. To produce any structural comprehension…there is a screw loose. Needing a prescription for growth hormones, specific. Targeted.

I look out my window. Weather report. Jacket no jacket. Start car. Robotic. Method madness. At least these certain things I can do blindly. Memorized. Second to nature. Second to doing this since birth. Second to started my car after exiting the womb. Second to.

Band-Aid me. Neosporin. Hug me and let me cry.