Blah, blah blah. Valentine’s Day and here’s the customary Valentine’s Day post because today’s the day of hearts and I’ll scream out my heart because this is my blog.
Why do people find it pitiful that I stepped into the door sans flowers? Is it really so bad? I’m ten feet ahead of what I feel. I can’t remember the feeling at all. Therefore, in my world, I never really lost anything because I fail to sense an absence. (The presence that makes the present absence unbearable- my mind is filled with crap.)
So what do I do? I google the feeling.
Yay.
You reign in such inward retreats of my soul that I know not where to attack you; when I endeavour to break those chains by which I am bound to you I only deceive myself, and all my efforts but serve to bind them faster.
It seems that every great love story is a tragic one. Indeed, the medieval ages particularly relished what they called fino amore where love was elevated to an art that found its culmination in the essence of longing. The finest love was depicted as a tragic, willful dance and was most poignant when it could not be. I have to admit that I have never found a truly moving poem or song which was entirely happy. But that could be my personal fault.
—
I put on music to block out
The incessant rumbling of a
[Well, this is not for real afraid to feel. I just hit the floor, don't ask for more. I'm wasting my time, wasting my time...]
Sanctimonious asphalt road
Where the streetlights always flicker
When I pass by.
Wink, wink.
Hello there particle and wave creator.
I’m passing by today, like today was different from yesterday.
It’s not so easy to keep my mind on the road when
I have to see the tiny pebbles not there yesterday-
Or at least not that old, rusty, crimson color-
Of a cat that must have been overrun not three hours ago
Because the metallic scent of blood still lingers in the air.
Hmmm. Figures the orange kitten waiting at the bend.
