Landscapes (From 11-18-09)   Leave a comment

I’ve been trying desperately to write something the last few days. I’ve sat here, listened to music, mediated, day dreamed, but nothing comes. This doesn’t happen often to me and I always find it unsettling when it does.
I thought maybe reading some older things would spark something. And it has. Only it’s not the urge to write, but the need to hold my thoughts to myself. “Cuz I swear some stuff you just see better from further away and I think I communicate best now the less that I say.”
But in the spirit of being forthright I suppose the least I could do is share what it is that I’ve read from the past that has calmed and silenced me. I assure you, my quiet wont last long.

The following is from 11/18/09 and is titled Landscapes.

What if life is just one long run on sentence? What if we section things off into minutes, years, memories, promises, but all that really matters is the here and now and each tick of the clock is just an excuse? What if there is no such thing as time? What if love isn’t complicated or lackluster? What if forever actually means something?
There are nights when all I want to do is reach through the ceiling and through your floor and find your hand, probably cold and tense as you dream those troubled dreams. And somehow, I make myself believe, that if you felt me there you would know what I know and all that I have bottled up inside would stream though me and into you, warming you, lifting you up and into some other dreamscape.
But then I come here and I write to you and try to convince myself that some where along the line, what I do in the dark will matter in the light of your morning. Maybe, somehow, my faith in you right now will wrap itself around you when ever you find these words and you will, for however briefly, trust in the wonder of who you are enough to know that what we do all day is not waste time, but honestly live and breathe and that there is nothing better than that, that no other time is more precious.
I flash ahead, in my twisted daydreams, and I see all possible random realities. I see me years from now, somewhere far away and with you so removed from my day to day life that any other person would’ve dropped away completely. And at the end of some long day full of those things that you wish for me, I pull myself closer to the keyboard of some computer in some room to write you here and tell you again and again that I still love you no matter what this time of yours has done to us.
And then, there is a vision of you lost in the world you’ve created. Having one of those days that I was made to be there for you, but I am not right there because time did not see to it that that was important. And you carefully type this site into the browser, hoping that maybe the words of some past entry will still conjure up some kind of heat and promise. You come to me and you see that all along, I have been writing you because no matter what you’ve witnessed, my connection to you is not something that requires effort or upkeep. It is not something we can corrupt or alter. It simply is. And as you see the visits I have made since your last stop by, you are reminded that somethings are forever no matter how we’ve measured them.
I fight my mind and my heart that so desperately wants to bring me to a happier location. A time and place where you are there with me and I do not need to use a keyboard to touch you because you are not hidden from me. My hand can find your hand just as my words can find you now. It shows itself to me and I turn my face from it like a warm breeze that only serves to remind me of just how cold the world really is. I know better and my little dreamer, she’s fighting me every step of the way. But I tell her, it’s time to wake up now. These dreams, they serve no purpose.
So then I come here and I write to you, sometimes not to reach you but to bring me back. Its as though I am the one lost and sitting here is just the medicine I need to stop me from drifting too far. But still, I see that it is you that I run to when I am afraid of drifting and that speaks volumes in quiet hush like voices that reminds me of the safety of home.
God damn my words and the way they flow out of me hoping to find you in some accommodating way that maybe you feel me so strongly one day that you find words of your own. I am so sorry because if this affects you at all I know that its not fair and I never wanted to be anything other than good for you. But what can I do, but sit here and pour out and over and go through it all, just trying to make sense of what I’m going to do next?
Maybe you’re laughing at me right now. Maybe I’m just some silly person like so many others who have told you that you were the world to them. Maybe. And if that’s the case, maybe that is all that I have left to hope for to save me, because I assume that sooner or later, while my love wont fade, if you see me as just one of many then perhaps even I’ll catch on eventually. I will build yet another landscape for us to hang pictures and set tables where all we do is laugh and where the meaningful looks just mean that we are not alone and nothing more. Maybe there isn’t anything more. And maybe, the dreamer needs to feel hope for morning for once and not simply long for sleep.

I love you, endlessly.


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