.'s Journal

Living on the edge of furniture
The desk complained with quiet echos, transient sounds, distant fingerprints. Having triggered its ancient defensive mechanism I was already shifting my weight forward in response to the teasing with magic sounds of far away.

Hey there
Burning bright star, flying across the sky of my life.
Gone now.
Like the angels.

Oh my God.
Is this still here?

Happy people have different ambitions.

Sigh
Why does each new building have to destroy a piece of my sky? Crushed and surrounded by the noise and busy thoughts of everywhere, I shrink down into my secret garden where I hide from the fact I'm hiding. Too much, or too little known facts about peace in my soul, either way I'm there far too often.

Time oh time, passing me by. By myself or with others was I where I was yesterday, will I still be here tommorow? Your guess is as good as mine.

I know something I know, only because of my love for her. That's why it hurts. I almost wish I didn't know.

What happens when I grow tired of being tired? What happens when I run out of me? I don't want to be selfish. I dont want to be what I see everyday, walking around this world, missing the little things. Missing the love.

How can I go back to the loneliness?

When I was with her I was never completely happy without her. Now we are apart and just a minute ago I was happy, and that made me sad. Perhaps sad for the last time. One last kiss.

Without you, they are only words.

Love is behind my every decision, why doesn't anyone else see that?

All this, without love, is only all this. And it is a pale imitation of life.

Damn you Hollywood! Must you put a love story in every movie? I pay not only in cash to watch these wrecks, do I not already suffer in ways you could never imagine, nor follow a like idea to any conclusion? Am I the only one? *sigh* So far. And yet . . . so far.

My heart, the held butterfly. Who am I? Why am I? I'm afraid to cry. I'm still going to.

Are people who need alone time in love? I thought love was constant. I thought love was forever.

She brings my happiness . . . and it stays with me.

I'm holding a leaf. It's veins reach out like the same fingers that caught it as it circled in the wind, the memory of so much life. For an instant it lay there still ringing from the beginnings of it's origins, preserved in my soul only at last round it's final season and now gracefully dying in my hand.

Depression isn't your fault. It's ours. I'm so sorry. Does the world ignore you? Then they don't deserve to know you. Not the real you. The you inside, with all your big ideas. Your inner smile. You are beautiful.

It feels so good to be me.

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