VERBAL DIARRHOEA

it has been a little bit of heaven and alot of earth. the rectangles sometimes squares were not too hard to walk on at all. but the lines that define their shapes were almost impossible to toe. they crissed and crossed systematically at best. complementary at worst. to fit the mould of concrete and have every ground covered. well almost. the coins that dropped intentionally or otherwise. were safely netted and always within reach. that wasnt a bad thing but it also meant granting too many takes. and walks. so much so that the mind is led out too frequently on dark and daunting alleys down memory lane. supposedly for some light. or not. i have willfully chosen to allow my hands to bruise with the cold now looking like trampled autumn leaves and clovered bums.

there is a timely clock. that gives hourly doses of minutes that passes much too slowly but wouldnt come to successfully slip away. no matter how many sheeps crossed over to the greener (by popular belief) grass.

then there is that untimely calender. which provides a weekly dosage of days that have been passing by much too quickly. this skidding of time can well be said as happening before my very eyes. far away from my mind. and further away still. from my heart.

the cold. reminds me to appreciate the warmer times. the snow. reminds me that no matter which route i take or how many detours i make. i am still living. my dream (on a good day). a life (on other days). clouds. remind me that no matter how the sun shines. the rain will come. as i try to give back the patience that was given to me. the pride that was taken in me. and the faith that was bestowed for me. in the climates that arent supposed to be as geographical as the seasons that come in repeated cycles. keeping in mind that transitions are inevitable and that i have to let it happen for it to be done with. yet knowing only too well that i will still be too haughty to bear. and obstinately contesting and dreading the process every step of the way. leaving not behind but with. the baggages of indecent emotions. hoping that the day will come. when the weather can be appreciated at its best. and worst. for purely what it only is. at that bare naked moment.

i cant promise that i wont be hesitant or cautious. but im committed to trying. i dont call the shots (well not always). but i will never be shot. the tables i eat at have and will always be round. cus no matter how much they spin and how many times they turn. there will be no edge.

current aural of the last/ing straws - Maybe Someday by The Cure.