Always In My Own World

always in my own world

there it was. there it is … the song of gloom filling the evening air. i can’t seem to figure out this particular feeling of sorrow. is it the motion of moving forward? moving on? i suppose the reality of our memories don’t seem to exist in these 66 seconds of her lullaby. my love for you re-emerges and the feelings of some beginning becomes suspended. here is where i find the love i buried deep within the earth — hidden furthest from you. her words become my own and my heart loses sight of the present moment. here is where i yearn for your companionship, missing the warmth of your presence

or rather the idea i orchestrated of you.

how do you get your thoughts across without over sharing?

it's been quite some time. so much emotion and movement happening, yet i still feel as though i've been at some standstill. waiting ... for what exactly? i wouldn't even begin to be able to utter the words to you. perhaps i'll use the most obvious excuse. that being, i've been running away from the idea of self -- whatever that should mean, better yet, look like.

these days, finding the time to unravel and weave the mingling thoughts that swim ferociously within my mind ... seem to be that of luxury. i crave to hide away so that i may find my thoughts and piece them up like once before.

little one, how you have grown. how you have hurt. turning towards your sins - nurturing your rage.

i gaze upon the heart, allowing my face to rest against your punctured wounds. i weep, as you suffocate the seed of purpose. why must you run to the water? - do you search for the bottomless pit? in hopes that blu will become black and black consume your restless soul?

i awoke. thinking of your childlike presence. recalling the smile which shimmered in iridescent hues - overwhelming the lips, as laughter spewed beyond the spirit and into the air.

i recalled the mother who held her first born, rejoicing in tongues. mesmerized with love, as her reflection mirrored her in infancy. i recalled her … as my heart beats for you, thumping heavily.

dear friend, i suppose in your sadness you have not heard the opening of windows and the swinging of doors. i pray for your weakened heart and the bitterness which has wrapped your soul. might you ask the stars above for strength or have you forgotten? … purpose lingers at the draw of your breath.

too much talking : too much overthinking