Mac proclaims proudly, "Its Three o'clock!"
"Yes Mac, I know it is. this is becoming a usual thing now isnt it?" replied the insomniac.
Of course, she wouldn't get a response until the 4 morning hour rolls around. Even then, Mac utters out the time in a seemingly tired pre-recorded voice.
Saturday, November 13, 2010
Friday, November 12, 2010
Thinking as a Transcendentalist.
It's beautiful. Not one house in sight. The green goes on and on only to be interrupted by pools of reflecting light:water.
The roads form an intricate maze, sharp turn, straight away, squiggling further than one could see.
The clouds blush with the residual rays of the sun as they tower over the different shades of earth . Blotches of trees begin to crawl into my peripherals.
Forming tight knit cliques
Leaving the loners to fend for themselves.
Harshly complicated systems of cookie cutter houses are such an eye sore. Communities.
Damn communities and their conformity.
My adoration for this simple beauty flew out the window as the flight attendant frowned upon my cell phone use. I only wanted to describe what even pictures could not capture.
The roads form an intricate maze, sharp turn, straight away, squiggling further than one could see.
The clouds blush with the residual rays of the sun as they tower over the different shades of earth . Blotches of trees begin to crawl into my peripherals.
Forming tight knit cliques
Leaving the loners to fend for themselves.
Harshly complicated systems of cookie cutter houses are such an eye sore. Communities.
Damn communities and their conformity.
My adoration for this simple beauty flew out the window as the flight attendant frowned upon my cell phone use. I only wanted to describe what even pictures could not capture.
An old friend.
It's been so long.
The ghost of her whisper has left my memory. All I have left to remember are bits and pieces of our past. Happy memories that make me long for her friendship, along with cold words and hateful intentions. It's a bittersweet feeling. The very same which ignites a flame that both burns for desire and anger. It hurts. But that hurt is numbed when she sends a text message at a random time. It saddens me, that I've forgotten her voice. Because it was that very thing that held me securely to this life and helped me grow. I no longer hear her call in the wind. I no her the memory if her laugh. I can't recall it. And now, it can never be as it used to be.
The ghost of her whisper has left my memory. All I have left to remember are bits and pieces of our past. Happy memories that make me long for her friendship, along with cold words and hateful intentions. It's a bittersweet feeling. The very same which ignites a flame that both burns for desire and anger. It hurts. But that hurt is numbed when she sends a text message at a random time. It saddens me, that I've forgotten her voice. Because it was that very thing that held me securely to this life and helped me grow. I no longer hear her call in the wind. I no her the memory if her laugh. I can't recall it. And now, it can never be as it used to be.
Silence.
Silence.
That's all I long for.
Silence.
I long for that feeling just before you drift off to sleep
When your spirit leaves your body
And begins to fall
Down
Down through a whirl of colors
Through an array of blues, yellows, oranges, greens, browns.
Red.
Then...silence.
I long for it.
I long for the silence.
The peace of the night
To float throughout the blackness
Finally being able to rest
Not a worry in my soul.
And to be able to return home.
Home is where the stilled hearts beat.
That's all I long for.
Silence.
I long for that feeling just before you drift off to sleep
When your spirit leaves your body
And begins to fall
Down
Down through a whirl of colors
Through an array of blues, yellows, oranges, greens, browns.
Red.
Then...silence.
I long for it.
I long for the silence.
The peace of the night
To float throughout the blackness
Finally being able to rest
Not a worry in my soul.
And to be able to return home.
Home is where the stilled hearts beat.
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