Here We Are

I am here again, in a brand new environment. The taste and sound are different, but there is one alarming reminder of the past.

I have brought with me my own cyclical patterns so for I can predict the future The pathway is never clear, and this path is carved out by the relentless trend.

I will not blame the hazy gaze looking forward on the tightening of the paths size. More measurably distinguished by the lapse of time it takes to run.

My skill cannot receive credit for the journey, but rather my impatience. A circle cant make progress even if you are counting your steps, But I am moving forward unable to see prospects of what a line brings benefit.

There was a time when the circle was so large that I loved to sleep alone. I miss the feeling of cool sheets, hairless legs and a starfish posture.

I miss the comfort and security of a bedtime, and the silent smell of morning.

The recent days have brought later nights, and a feeling of emptiness. One that is only meant to be reserved for special occasions, annually.

I swore the death of presence for those who are not entire worthy as myself. How will I even know when those people are truly the hybrid of love and time?

Lately I find passion resurfacing with a vulnerability I lost long ago. All the conversational landmarks are being hit, with exposure and limits.

The relationship to actions are falling in line with a mutual expedition. Thus I have found it, but did not create; falling but no longer standing.

I was mistaken to have thought this was usual when in fact I am backwards. Lurking to the site of the first meteor crash.

Each creeping year I vow to change as I slowly work my way down the line.

It first came to me in the version of a familiar ghost, and loudest impact. It then came to me after with a childlike newness for adventure.

Now, here we are, heartbroken and lost for words, while observing the changing season. An astute meditation on the past will not bring about control of the now.

The most sour and bitter lesson is that many years were wasted. The passion of youth, as youth itself, is over in a sobering reality of now.

One foot on the boat, and one foot off won't make me any less seasick. And lastly I'm alone with so much to prove but I don't know whom to tell it.

I want to fall back in love with the world and I t hank someone for being the muse. I thank the seldom few who pained me, that there is a part of me that feels.

I spent too many nights blissfully going forward in the most naïve sense. I miss this girl, and the efforts that I used to make to be whole without more.

I miss the pride of my nightly routine, and the hours passed without speaking. The thing I miss the most is the smell of fall, and the lack of desire to move.

Here we are, again, shattered to pieces but smiling for the prism of color it makes. Fragile as glass, and translucent as the mental health issues made me.

I feel beautiful for being a student of life and choosing life for its learning. Life is pain, but it is also a fascinating window of reality, full of smells.

My bed smells like the bike ride I used to take my freshman year of college. An open window on a 65 degree day smells like my apartment in 2012.

I like the way the first snowfall smells like childhood and the carpet upstairs. In all of my memories I recall the feeling of sorrow always looming over me.

Alone on a swing in July of 2003, and subsequently ever year after. I hated the school days, and the carpool home where I had to sit beside a thorn.

I hated when my dog died and I felt there was nothing worth loving again. I especially hated wearing fashionable pea-coats to house shows when drinking underage.

I definitely don't miss lessons learned like the existence of a one night stand. Regardless of my sorrow, I remember the way the air really felt on those days.

With the aroma weaving all of it together I feel more whole now than ever. Here we are, on this endless wheel, discovering nothing more than myself.