State of grace...

There are days when I feel like I've seen enough, done enough, felt enough. When I call my wandering days over and slowly accept the quiet life from here on. When the dreams of making waves are a vague memory and the songs I meant to sing feel more like a finished painting, something to just observe and hang on the wall from now on, to those who wish to observe it. But then the night falls and the morning rises and horizons are calling once again and I'm on my way. Forests fresh and pastures new. I'm on my way.

Our higher power...

How the punchline goes...

How will people remember you when you are gone? And for how long until they forget? Were you selfish or selfless? A gossip or a patient listener? Did you add value to the world, or did you simply take from it? Did you add significance to the lives of others, or were you a constant drain? Were you a plus or negative? Meaningful or meaningless? Someone even worth remembering? 

It's the same struggle for each of us, and the same path out: the utterly simple, infinitely wise ultimately defiant act of loving one thing and then another, loving our way back to life. Maybe being perfectly happy is not really the point. Maybe that is only some modern dream of the point, while the truer measure of humanity is the distance we must travel in our lives, time and again, twist two extremes of passion - joy and grief. However much I've lost, what remains to me is that I can still speak to name the things I love.

Looking over at you...

And maybe we were just two friends

that got lost in translation.

Maybe I asked for too much

But maybe this thing was a masterpiece,

until you tore it all up.

Running scared, I was there,

I remember it all too well.

A crumpled up piece of paper lying here

My sweet disposition...

Not sure about my destination ...

but I'm on my way.

Where you come from is gone, where you thought you were going to never was there, and where you are is no good unless you can get away from it. Where is there a place for you to be? You needn't look at the sky because it's not going to open up and show no place behind it. You needn't search for any hole in the ground to look through into somewhere else. You can't go neither forwards nor backwards. You yourself right now is all the place you've got. If there was any fall, look there, if there was any redemption, look there, and if you expect any judgment, look there, because they all three will have to be in your time and your body and where in your time and your body can they be?

All too well...

I turned away from the ocean as not to fall for its plea, for it used to seduce, and consume me and there was this one night a few years back and I was not yet accustomed to farewells, and just like now I stood waving long after the ship was gone. But I was younger then and easily fooled and the ocean was deep and dark and blue and I took my shoes off to let the water freeze my bones. I waded until I could no longer walk and it was too cold to swim but still I kept on walking at the bottom of the sea for I could not tell the difference between the ocean and the lack of someone I loved and I had not yet learned how the task of moving on is as necessary as survival.

You look perfect tonight...

The kind of man you want in the end...

Riding high, 

when I was king,

I played it hard and fast, 

because I had everything.

I walked away, 

but you warned me then.

But easy come, and easy go, 

and it would end.

He belongs to the world...

The heat finally left space for breathing and crisp air. The trees undressed and coloured the streets and I found myself changing with the season. I so badly wanted to be that force of nature, that fire no one can touch, but I was tired. Tired, tired, tired, of being me and if I had one inch of energy to be something beautiful, I would have, but all I could care about was to make it home before it got dark.

I always pictured it a grand thing, the moment I would take off. Someone waving long after I was out of sight and some tune playing soft from somewhere I couldn't see. I pictured it a clear line, some sort of sharp edge between before and after. But there is no such thing. You can take a U-turn where you're walking on the pavement but people are just on their own path, and now you're in their way. You keep walking against the tide and you think you're doing something great but really you're just pissing people off and when you finally get out on the open field where no directions exist, you find yourself lonely, not free, just a big, vast lonely world that surrounds you and you can go anywhere you please but suddenly you don't want to go anywhere at all. You just want to go home. 

The paradise before my world implodes...

Was it possible to feel nostalgic about something that had never happened to him, possible for nostalgia to be taken in by the body as a free pathogen to infect the consciousness with stray sentiments? Perhaps, in his dreams, he had traveled back in time, or even drifted into another dimension of space-time and inhabited the body, experiences, and nostalgia of another. To even envisage so allowed the trauma of those lost moments, though not his own, to draw from him a certain envy for the entity in whose memories he had basked vicariously. Perhaps, nostalgia was a microorganism, the bacterium that infected ... yes ... maybe he was sick.

Until the sun cracks...

I can be by myself because I'm never lonely; 

I'm simply living in my heavily populated solitude, 

a harum-scarum of infinity and eternity, 

and Infinity and Eternity seem to take a liking to the likes of me.

I am the contrast. I am forever the crack in the window that lets the winter in. I am forever the moment between laughter and tears, happiness and sadness. I am light and darkness. I am fire and ice. You will try to take me into your life, but I won't fit, and you will not know how to tell me that there is simply no place for me. And I will choose love, even though I am scared and shy, of everyone and everything, to make a fool of myself; to be laughed at; to not be what people would like me to be. But I will choose love because that’s the sort of person I want to be.

Feels like a holiday...

Hearts don't break around here...

I found my heart and left it here,

made friends and lost them through the years,

and I've not seen the roaring fields in so long,

I know I've grown

but I can't wait to go home.

Be patient while I grow...

Something only mine...

I know the hard ground and the taste of the salt water I'm made of and the way even getting out of bed feels impossible some days. I know how some moments there's not even enough air. I know what it means to be desperate and the bargains we want to make in those moments with the universe and every last prayer we pray to gods we don't even believe in. But does that make me stupid? No ... I don't think so. I don't think so at all. Not stupid. Not after all I've been through. Infinitely, impossibly, beautifully human perhaps.