Friday night,
I got high
and watched an old film:
The Neverending Story

So many simple shots
and scenes
played back in my memory
at the exact time they
were displayed on screen
It was beautiful
I smiled fondly
as I remembered them all

Then one shot came into view
One I don't recall
Something simple—
People running across a field

And I bawled

This is The Neverending Story
Yet,
we all die

I bawled

Just like a Hollywood Film
You shot and captured me
Releasing me into the world
For everyone to see
I never knew these scenes could luminate me

Slow, you breathe. Barrel-chested shelter. Shelterer, from weathers and fictions seen only for a moment. They flutter under the lids, furled and reeled by your celluloid-spun mind. If only I were there. I do not want to be cold. (I am trying.) Just to warn you, I’m a bit of a hoarder. But I’ll keep the edit room floor clean. I am ready to say it. (And I am not ready.)
You mumble these dreams. I promise I’ll guard each like my own. Every word you will ever almost say. Your orphans, your nothings. Your ”please understand”s. And the “never mind”s. They sigh heavy in your greasy paper lungs. Babe, even your un-popped kernels are gold. If only you knew. I lose sleep over that kind of garbage. I remember which closet. Which shoebox it’s in. I am ready to say it…
You want a wider-angle lens for your camera. A few more popcorn munchers at the alter. I want to know just how cold it gets in your room at night. To rustle in drifts of your lightly salted dream fluff. I want to measure winter’s gradient from the bed’s edge to yours. If only I were there. I do not want to be cold. (I am trying.) I am ready to say it. (And I am not ready.)

The setting was a back country road
The script was minimal
Descriptions mostly
It was us two
Acting mostly with our eyes and smiles
Actors don't know how to act with their eyes
Anymore
The natural light of the sun
Illuminated you in the most majestic
of ways
The whole day was magic hour
And few get to act with their muse

We're but a collection of monochrome films,
each it's own color.
Pixels on a screen,
giving life its big animated motion picture.

You are the absence of color in our cinema screen;
white.
I am the absorption or combination of all combined;
black.
So why then, when reflected through a prism your light
gives a rainbow?
It must be the light versus a color, without the light there is
no Technicolor.

We're but a composition of a continuous film,
and ensemble of the cinema of life.