podeamloops.
Fresh beginnings make you think about what it is you want, about how you will spend the remainder of whatever it is that is beginning. But the beginning to the end of something you’ve been waiting for for the longest time just makes you think about what it is you wanted, and what it is you will want.
Looking back at the path taken, you see the meanders and you cringe as you see how they drifted from what you set out to do. You don’t even know if you are where you meant to be, because you don’t know where you are any more.
–
You make my heart weep and sob, weep with joy and sob with sadness. Isn’t it funny how two polar feelings both cause an annoying leak in the eyes? Maybe they’re not polar at all, no not opposites, but simply ends of a loop, a loop that – as loops tend to do – loop back on itself, joining the ends in a not-end.
Is love what the music pounding in my ears now claim it to be, a glorious drop into the height of passion, up is down and down is right and left is wrong?
Or is it indeed simply a cruel joke we play on ourselves. A cruel joke I started when I met you, when I talked to you, when I dropped into heights with you.
We sit in couches of almost brown-tan time, soft under blankets and blanketed in music as we don’t talk the words that spill from our heart; fingers twine and your soft long hair that has the black showing from the roots tickle my neck as we shift and laugh trying dislodge the remote that had dropped onto the cushions and is poking us in our collective bottoms.
We are in our own bubble, where we don’t take part in the world around us for those stolen moments, where we are no longer ourselves but simply us; the you and the me we’re trying to know, instead of the You and the Me we tend to be.
We don’t walk on the beaches or talk in the parks or sit in the theatre because we despise sand and insects and talking during the movies, but we walk and talk and sit in our own secret hideyholes with food and drink and us.
–
Now. To find a You to be We with.
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