They speak of absence & inaction -
Yet, 𝘪𝘯 𝘵𝘳𝘶𝘵𝘩,
¹ Such things do not exist.
Like imbalance,
These are merely perspectives.

It's ******* disturbing.

I wake up tired,
My body aching.
I just stop sleeping.

News, coffee.
Planet encyclopedia,
Thesaurus cigarettes
And dictionary breakfasts.
Slices of rhetoric
With some kind of spread of intellect -
For lunch?
Dissertative sandwiches.

Grains of perspectives
In something over-marinated.
I just stop eating.

It matters not.

No matter how you view it-
It's all lookings, each perspective.
You grow & you grow & you grow,
But you refuse to germinate.
Don't you know?
You must release your seedlings
If you hope for a root
To be planted.
Can't have too fragile of a barrier,
But neither too hard the shell.
Spread your wings
And do your thing,
Flaunt your laurels.

My boyfriend Peter’s like smoke, he’s elusive. He doesn’t always carry his phone.

There’s a crosswalk in Tokyo, it’s in all the movies. The light changes and hundreds of people walking in different directions meet - but they don’t collide - they make room for each other, flowing around each other like water.

Peter and I make room for each other. Then we come together and we make something. We’re of such different textures - we come from stark counterpoints but somehow, we mesh.

He’s the first person I go to with an idea because I trust him and I think he understands me. He’s my secret weapon. His advice is a coin I’m careful with.

He’s gone through the long slog and achieved a dream. And he did it poor. He fought a guerilla war with almost no resources. He lived in crowded spaces, existed on Ramen noodles and saltine crackers, taking any job to cover.

He’s practical, goal oriented and he can be unsympathetic. He’ll whisper, “Nutup up, tinkerbell - you’re such a baby,” but there's a supportive energy to it - and he’s usually right. He heralds a reality I’m not always used to.

Anyway, he was smoky tonight. I couldn’t reach him. Sometimes we go over a week without talking (I'm not always reachable either) and when we do, it feels intimate and victory-like.
.
.
Song for this:
Come in from the cold by Marc Broussard
One Two Three by Hooverphonic

Flipping through nothing
But empty pages
Made me realise,
You see much further
With an open heart
And iridescent eyes.

Don't know how big our life is,
Don't know how far our feelings stays,
So,
Let me dip you in my love,
Let me show you my deepest secret,
Let me know the reasons behind all your moods,
Let me know you sometime,
Let me just enjoy the long rides with you,
Let me understand you,
Let me change your perspective, of that drawing you made in your heart,
Until we fall apart,
Just let me love you....

In a wordy battle with trivial dogmatic mentalities , I win by sandwiching my perspectives between my upper lip tubercle and lower lip tubercle.