I'm not too sure how to begin this. Honestly, I'm not sure what beginnings and endings are anymore, or if it is a cyclic revival. There is a city with 'streets of insidious intent' growing and dying with every breath I take, and I don't know how to fill, nor whether to empty. It's like the moment you decide not to immerse yourself in living but rather in life, how do you make the transition without stumbling?
All I know is [and it bereaves me to be learning and relearning the same thoughts and people all the time] all I know is -- it seems that the more I let the rain fall, the more the floods want to tear me down. I don't like the deceptive feeling of invincibility; to my constraint, it's a mere decoration on Achilles' feet.
Do paths cross because feet guided them, or do we all walk with our eyes on the gravel?I was counting the earthworms after a rainstorm, these tiny creatures crawling away from home when the opportunity comes only to find out that they were better off, there's nothing to quench your thirst when you're not where you want to be. And when I saw the sky beneath my feet I wondered if we were meant to live backwards all this time.I'm still wondering.
Aide said to me, "It's not because a song has an ending that you can't enjoy it while it plays" and I was reminded of all the songs I write on my hands and my walls and my heart, the same songs that fill my lungs with stormy water from the Atlantic when I wanted was to be pacific -- and I think she's wrong.I want those songs to end now.
