What happens when I don’t want this anymore? Not for any other reason that I know my heart is not conquered. I know that what lies between us is fathoms deep and unfathomable. I know that where we think and what we say is just enough off synch that even the fundamental basis of our communication is faulty. Like two radios tuned into different wavelengths. Destined to the white noise of each other’s static. Annoying. Background. Utterly meaningless. And yet. When you touch me. Whole worlds burn. And the sky falls. And everything is swept away. And the parts of ourselves that still slither below the psyche are paired to perfection. And I wonder at us. Us as a collective species. How we’ve created form and meaning in spaces that perhaps shouldn’t be constructed. How we reach and grasp for things that are perhaps supposed to be out of reach. And I wonder if maybe that’s just the excuse I weave for myself, when I invite you home. Again. And I wonder, again, why I can’t be satisfied with this. Why I feel like this just-so life is stifling. Why I want to destroy it all like a blistering Enyo. Kali. Sekhmet. And hope (hope) that I would rise like a phoenix to a more radiant life. And so the circle of my thoughts is woven. Unraveled. And woven again. And I reach no conclusion tonight. Except to wonder if tomorrow will be different.
rain on a tin roof