I most certainly do not care that you went for a jog at 4 am or that you overslept your alarm clock for work.
I do not care that you drove to Harvey's because you wanted some food or you washed all the dishes and still had no fork.
It is not necessarily necessary that you post every detail of your life online.
Mystery has been lost and without every detail I'm sure we would be just fine.
So nobody cares that you are taking a crap after you ate that greasy breakfast burrito and they do not need a play by play of the occurrences of your entire day.
Before you bring your fingers to the board ask yourself is this necessarily necessary?
Most likely, the answer is no.
I'm not too sure if I can compare your existence
to the dandelion that blossomed in the crack
of the old paved parking lot or the tone of
your voice to Beethoven's Piano Concerto No.5.
And I'm not too sure if I can compare your hair
to the coat of a Fennec Fox or the mane of a White Lion.
Comparing your eyes to the color of my walls
puts a shame to the confinement of my room.
The brightest shades of blue in Turkish Tiles
could not measure up to the color of your eyes.
The tallest of towers even seem small compared
to the height of your shoulders and the comfort of your touch.
Nothing measures up or down to the actuality of the situation.
A sense of disgrace embraces inanimate objects,
as if they could feel an emotion at all.
Even the most exotic of animals do not seem rare enough.
So I'm not sure if I can compare you to anything.
It's really strange and interesting to look back at where we used to be and then compare it to where we are now. Most of the times I constantly ask myself and tell myself, "Really!? What was I thinking?" Half of the time I wonder why I still remember the stuff that I put up for so long and the other half I spend wondering when I became smart enough to forget about you.
I also noticed that I tend to forget the things that used to mean a lot to me. Obviously it is because you don't mean jack squat to me anymore, but it is strange to know that something that used to be so familiar is not anymore. People that I used to know and be so close to are so distant that I can't even remember their names or faces. Although I do remember the best more than the worst, I still remember the worst as detailed as ever. However, I finally realized that I can not change you and once I say goodbye to you there is no going back. It is time to let things go so I can finally look at you and compare you to the present and thank God for what I have now and what we don't have anymore. I've replaced the bad memories with better and more familiar ones. I've replaced the old with something new. I've replaced you with not only one but two; the present and future. I wish you the best of luck in other peoples lives and I promise I won't bring up the bad things; only the good.
Sincerely, Your dearest friend.
We used to dance to the sounds of our youth
but I haven't heard that song in a while and
it seems that I have forgotten all the moves.
We used to roll our car windows down until they
no longer existed and we would sing loud enough for
the wind to hear, as if the wind could even hear at all.
We used to walk the red clay trail leading to the
convenient store. We'd push each other round in
tiny metal carts and play our childish games to the
sound of elevator music.
But now the store is no longer open for business,
and those tiny metal carts have been placed
somewhere else. The car windows are resting
in a motor infested park and the wind has blown
our echoes away.
A time not too long ago but long enough to allow things to change.
The memories still exist and the songs still published but that moment in time will never come back.
It seems so strange that you used to know me like all the words
to your favorite Bob Dylan song because now you have a new song for a new friend.
And now I stand years away from you with those dusty songs that you haven't listened to in years thinking about the things we used to do.
My eyes began to hide as we retired conversation.
My eyes began to hide as the night grew tired
And we’d lie next to eachother like two lines on the road
And I didn’t want to open my eyes for fear that you had snuck from the covers
And then suddenly you were singing like the call of a nightingale.
My eyes and mind were deluded into believing the occurance of the following events.
We sat together like two birds on a branch.
My breathing was heavy like the tree being supported by the ground.
We sat together as the wind carried loose limbs and leaves to the next town.
The storm was coming but I wanted to stay a little longer.
The storm was coming we must set flight!
But I did not want to separate for fear you’d be gone forever.
But I did not want to be blown and beaten for the Maine ***** grabs.
The storm was coming, so I left my ambitions to be carried with the limbs and leaves
And I left my nightingale alone in the night, to fight with the Nimbus as the storm carried on.
My eyes began to uncover from blankets, I felt your existence inches away.
My eyes were mislead and I rolled right on over and went back to bed.
You once lay with me under a blanket of sun
and held me in your hands. The texture of my
fine debris slipping through the crevices of
your fingers and toes.
You built me a kingdom by the seashore:
castles with towers for guards to keep watch
and dried up moats surrounding the landscape
of a desert.
Sea armies of adolescents would attempt to
conquer my walls but crustaceans armed with
a pair of Archimede’s claws would defend my
kingdom from such intruders.
But as the suns bulb became dim and burnt
out, the great big blue took over covering me
inch by great inch. My towers began to crumble
down, depleting all of my army and all of my castles.
You left me here for the ocean to take, but a little
piece of me snuck its way into your bag, towels,
hair, and shoes. And just like the ocean, you will
eventually wash me away as well.
Spines so straight, I've never seen before, usually broken and weathered; Never so tethered.
Spines of wood in all one direction.
The text is there, but nothing is clear.
Complete and total silence, except for the tip and tap of the keys that do not exist on pianos.
The keys that did not play my favorite song like my grandmother did in her earlier years.
The familiarity of this place should not be here and neither should I.
Concentration is insufficient in my mind, for the thoughts inside are shouting, gasping for air.
The surrounding souls cannot hear a word.
I shouldn't be here, not even in my mind.
For if the lady in the attic, who wears mirrors on her face, were to hear a word, she would tell me that I do not belong.
No, not in this place.
No, not at all.