Tired

Their are times when the screen of
my laptop loses it`s sharp lines and
nothing is in focus.
Things become a haze
of blurry fuzzy lines.
And in these moments theirs never
a sense worry or fear about my
state of vision but rather a sense of
calm. The kind of feeling that
comes hand in hand when
one comes to the realization of
`oh, I must be tired`.


This keeps happening.
I really must be fucking tired.

Something old with someone new.

I thought I'd try something old with someone new a few days ago. 

But to my dismay- I just wanted to see you sitting across the table .

Herself

As a young girl she’d dipped

her toes into the comfort of her own mind.

She hid in the nooks and crannies

of her soul. Hoping that all those who

treaded- would do so lightly.

If not cautiously, for she had

long been scared into the only

place she knew well.

Meager Moment

People say that the bathroom is where their best kind of thinking is done. That used to be the case for me. More specifically the bath- or shower if you will.

I used to love taking baths. But I realized, if I stay 

in too long, the sound of my own thoughts drown out every thing else,

that I become still, as does the water.

So still.

When movement becomes necessary the feeling of the water moving across my skin, and the sound of it all, is what snaps me out of my cluttered mind. 

I don't like leaving myself to my own thoughts. They consume me.

..

..

Today I thought that I'd treat myself to a warm bath. And I remembered you during this particular time of pruning. It was about a few months ago- I sat in your tub and you sat on the bathroom floor with your back against the wall as you read. Art of War, was it ?

I don't know.

But I do recall you said 'do you mind me reading here, love?' 

I remember I scoffed, flicked bubbles at you, and said 'Does my company bore you?'

You spoke immediately. ' Actually, naked or not I really like your company. I could always just read in my room, but I want to read beside you.' A sarcastic response was on the tip of my tongue but you gave me that crooked grin and fetched your book anyways. 

You really did read. It was endearing. I could tell by the way that you changed your position every so often to read more comfortably.

I enjoyed the silence but then my fingers started to prune and my own thoughts became too loud. 

That's when your voice pulled me out of my thoughts.

-

That's what I remembered today.

Damn, I just miss you.

I wonder

I wonder what I’ll be doing when the thought of missing you no longer hurts, but is a dull blur at the edge of my mind. Will I be in the middle of washing the dishes when the thought of you hits me? Will I be able to smile without tearing up? Will I have forgotten our escapades, our random walks, our comfortable silences?

You.

Your humor, your crooked smile, your character, your sincerity?

 Will I be able to look at you without wanting to rediscover you?

…

…

 But I still wonder.

What am I to do?

Your continuous motion inspires my tumultuous emotion 

Never ceasing, but at times, a glimpse

of quiet distortion

In your smile, it’s there, though barely so

Yet inevitably, it seems, it’ll be the fore of your woes

Sex and nothing else

A stranger asked me something terribly important yesterday. It was in a crowded room full of young well dressed adults, it was a soiree of sorts. Everyone was looking at me, it was in the midst of the presentation and the presenter searched the crowd and chose me first. I was buzzed and exhausted but the alcohol was doing wonders. I was feeling light and all I really wanted to do was to groove to all the beats with someone- anyone, as long as their was some sort of human contact. Fuck, things never really go well when there's alcohol involved with this kind of emotion. 

So the presenter asked me this:

"What's the first thing that comes to your mind when you think of love?"

And I didn't think twice. I smirked, I fucking smirked and I lightly scoffed as though what would come from my lips would be the most obvious answer and I said. 

..

...

"Sex." 

SEX? What the fuck? I kind of expected more from myself. What's wrong with me? How basic can I get? Love means more to me than just that. Although, sex is an aspect of a romantic relationship that can come and go, it's not something that lasts. Sex can be beautiful, it's a union of two people who love each other, but it's not something that fully encompasses my perception of love. Damn, why couldn't I have said something like ' patience, long-suffering, wonderful, fleeting, transient?' 

But damn, maybe it really just was the alcohol and the performances that were sexy.