You are to me what dew is to morning
fresh and fleeting
– Asvini Serasundera
You speak of the lonesome
we call upon empty minds
perhaps a subconscious awareness
of greatness beyond
of cosmos unseen,
worlds of realities
What is the death
but the norm
death is like
is like the common cold
is a portal.
lonely I’ll be,
Lost I will gladly become,
all victims of the common cold.
I’m not waiting but I’m willing
I’m not sure but I can be
lets not do anything,
we can lay here we’ll listen to acoustics
I promise you’ll feel better
I swear it will help.
Don’t worry about spilt coffee now, just let it sit
let it get cold
Stop thinking, just don’t.
time passes as fast as dandelions burn.
Open the window, ignore the pigeon waste
smoke your cigarette
second-hand smoke won’t matter
if I hold yours through it.
You ever feel like sadness grows and is better? The melancholy of silence trumps noise and temporary happiness.
Once you get used to it –
you are no longer forced into loneliness. Now it’s just what’s normal, and as much as I am afraid of routine, the familiarity of just myself is safer than the unknown disturbing my homeostasis in lonesomeness.
After a while, what most think of as fun or entertaining has no appeal. Falling in love seems arduous and frighteningly boring. Thinking ten years ahead into the future is no longer a riveting mental rollercoaster, but is now more a haunted house of realized, flawed, fantasies.
The transition from night to dawn to morning brings with it sobering thoughts of how deep scars run. Nothing Jack didn’t break, nothing Daniels can’t fix.
Broken homes and broken trust and broken dreams and crushed starts. Love is not what kills, oh no no, rather attachment. Love, so long as you love from afar.