Nº. 1 of  83



Fortuity and Happenstance




SA to NY

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staticwaltz:

I missed you friend,
You have been missed;
As humans do a human trick.

You did not hear the news, good friend?
Sleep is not anymore essential
Nor food, nor water, nor shelter, nor skies
For everything eventual is instrumental,
Just an ensemble cast in life’s potential,
A mere…

I’ve heard the news, though I won’t call it good
The stage is no more forgiving than hell.
And ringing this bell won’t shadow my failures.
The sound of this tailored act of illusion is nothing but an intrusion in time.
There’s no better record of your scars or mine than our words.
And what we’ve written only stretches so far.
And what we’ve said could leave such bold scars.

So hold your tongue and lift your pen.
There’s nothing but time for us to write in.
With actions, not words.
Let’s be verbs, you and I.
I’ll give you the benefit of the doubt, if ever you decide to doubt my benefit.

I heard your heart from the next room over. Beating like it did for me back when we didn’t have “back whens”. At first my heart was sick. And then my heart was angry. And finally it was humble. And in that moment where self obsession dissolved, I found it. I found my sky. Not a standard. Not something to compare to. Not some measuring stick to weigh experiences against. Just a limit. Something unattainable that I knew would keep me reaching. When the sky is the limit, you’ll never be tall enough. Never done growing. Never done knowing what it is you are and what you could be. I’m everything I haven’t been yet because she shows me that it’s possible. In her eyes I’m infinite. In her eyes, I’m every possibility, not a potential project. I use to relive these scars when I’d notice them. Now I just remember them.

Thanks, Waldy. 

Thanks, Waldy. 

And love is just telling someone enough about yourself that they can ruin little parts of your world and trusting that they won’t.

Being in love just means the parts aren’t so little.

I know your heart is thirsty. I want to fill it ‘til it’s bursting at the seams. It seems like we’re headed in the right direction, collecting each others idiosyncrasies like fireflies in mason jars. We’re closing in on something different. I’m filled with anxious anticipation. Even my patience can’t wait. I like wherever we’ll end up. I can’t call it traveling. We’re not unraveling a ball of yarn to follow back home. Home is wherever I can press my lips to your bare skin.

Nº. 1 of  83