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All seems different,
like a blurry landscape
with vanishing maps.
The distance from the past
keeps growing.
I slice through space and time,
on the chosen path,
along a trajectory of circumstances.
Against the denial of access,
against the gate closing,
just to hold together what was apart.
If only I owned the Moon
I could charge the Poets

But I do not own the Moon
And must view Her Face,
Imagine Her Dark

With You
Light,
The light from above has bestowed upon me the urge to dance, despite it all, all, all. A spark has spread a little fire—the music never stopped, despite it all.  

Affection,
Facing slowly—affection all over the floor. Summer has not started yet, but there is heat, devotion, warmth in absence. I nod to the sun. I turn towards the dappled, bronzed skin of mine.

Jazz,
There is something ferocious living inside this four-cornered apartment, where the absence of childhood has taken half my life—but there are flowers, flowers in my head. Slowly dancing in the whiskers of the afternoon—velvety, yes, velvety notes striking the rhythm of my body. Swaying, swaying, almost lost in the murmur of the piano—the saxophone aggravates the thrill in my bones. I look up at the ceiling; colors start to swirl even more. Strings spill like liquid—smooth and endless, more and more. Conversing here and there, I am alive again.  

“Turn your face towards the sun,” they say. I dreamed of my childhood, and the heat of the sun felt like slow jazz in the afternoon.
I wrote this for 10 minutes because jazz made me feel alive today.

jazz is for ordinary people - berlioz
you made me miss the train in my dream: my fault for staring so long
i walked home alone that day, in the rain
singing some stupid tune to myself

did you think of me?
sitting there in contemplation, aside those ever-clear windows
did you look for me?
like i look for you in the morning commute and math before recess and anywhere everywhere in that sprawling liar we call memory

i know you didn't
but truly, it's fine
you will someday
when i muster up my courage and take that big leap

yes, w.

i would leap in front of a train if it meant you looked at me for just one second

or at least i would in the dream

but really, i'm so scared
scared of your acknowledgement, scared of your indifference
scared of your love, scared of your hatred
most of all scared that i might die without you ever having cared

so i wait and ponder and rot away
and course toward that cruel fate i so dread
such is reality

but not my fantasy:

w., i hope i get hit by a train in your dream
an old 'love letter'. but that train has already departed
 13h Malcolm
Laura
This home is not our dwelling place.
We are all just a passing through.
Come snow,rain or sunshine.
It is ours to weather through.
So let us be courageous.
Standing,tall and strong.
As we weather through them all.
Knowing we are not alone.
Stand Tall.
Stand Strong.
Be courageous.
Live in victory.
And never let go.
w
simple things are all it takes
to tie my heart in knots of devotion
for i'm a simple girl
with simple wants:

to feel loved
no
to feel loveable
 13h Malcolm
ymmiJ
I glimpse the past in pink sands
shells crushed by time
once shelters from the storm
now reduced to souvenirs
in man's blown glass bottles
I’ve always loved
every day & every way
you ripped through the safeguards
of my heart & soul

do it again
again & again

you will never grow old
you will never be repulsed
my love will always draw you
inside

ageless,
this weakness for you

return
When I witnessed a rare fragility of the rain unbecoming—pouring its madness, tears following the wind that brings me to a place where I knew I witnessed an unfortunate crime, an absence of an absolute evil—cruel crime I would not be able to forget; the great tragedy of what was once.

It was all I saw.
It was all I felt.
It was all I knew.

The comfort and the gruesome thought of being a witness to it all—to the chaos, the fraudulent rage of the supposed love I knew; until I became a victim of it.

…and the absence of my answered prayer turned to basking in idiotic romantic fantasies I had built. All that interested me was the world I created inside this big rotten head of mine.

What an unfortunate time to be a witness in an unfortunate crime called: the absence of love.

While odd things create reality, dreams do come true, a bittersweet goodbye turns to a sweet return. All I know is once in a while, there comes an absence. How do I return the sparks back?
for the love that disappeared quietly. in a rushed hush tone, familiar random day a few years back.

song: lover, you should’ve come over - jeff buckley
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