Sunday, July 31, 2011

this is my sunday morning

there is something so seductive about a moon that sees everything. shadowed by turrets and towers and church steeples of distant lands, i paint pictures inside my lids and color outside the lines

always always desiring to be in the company of tall structures gaping boulevards and narrow streets that have lifted and cradled so many that came before. with trust in the vignettes i sought out in pictures and on the television i want them to surround me, to prolong the visual whispers that tickle my eyes and give them breath.

everywhere i go my senses are taunted by scents and sounds and images, flashes of stories the plotlines of which i know not of. glimpses of the lives the faces might have pull me down tunnels of melancholy where i live vicariously through shadows of my own creation. when time comes to emerge again i tuck them away in a safe place where i can pluck them at any moment of my choosing

little frost covered shop windows and girls sitting together under a tree and european students with flyaway scarves along watersides or milling about in outdoor cafes and song lyrics that sting deep, make me want to freeze time and listen to that one line for an eternity, trying to replay a feeling that is not tied to any experience i've had, but one i seek every time my gaze becomes caught like a fish on a line. a love story that does not belong to me but one i find the memory of through looking. i want to be the people that i encounter, want to put on their face and try on their perspective. i want to look up at lights in windows with different eyes each time and see paris streets like someone who grew up within them.

i want to go everywhere, yet i'm happy here where the promise of all the seeing and living to come is fresh off the wind's lips and i still believe it. maybe the dream is better, maybe this place where i am and with these eyes that i see is exactly where i want to be. and i want to be nineteen forever, just like this, pain still dancing in my left hipbone as i knock the right on a counter top.

these words that haunt me, make my life beautiful

No comments:

Post a Comment

Tell me what you're thinking.