Rekindling

So I’m sitting here, listening to a bit of Mischef Brew and soaking up the cheap cup of coffee I just got from a shoddy Melrose gas station. I find myself contemplating religion, life, love, and everything in between. Here I am, scribbling on Notepad and breathing that same O2 mixture I’m always ranting about. Here I’m home, between the language I’ve grown accustomed to and the exploding mass of thought rippling through my mind.

I’m sifting through a collection of letters and word documents, gathering dust in a folder labeled ‘escape.’ Reviving the anecdotes I have carefully hidden in metaphor, encoded, all of which raise one common question. “What is love?” I’ve lingered in its smoke, watching its sinuous fibrils encircle my head like a halo. “What is love…”

So exposed, yet so veiled—so vague in definition.

Harmonics pipe in. Ah, there’s the acoustics now. Stale air, the chills. Yes, I recognize its bittersweet anthem. Sinking back into the warmth of the frigid winter, rekindling frostbitten fingertips. The norm.

"Impermanent are all created things;
Strive on with awareness."

Lately I feel the slow slip of liberation; I’m slowly rekindling the fragments, blooming beneath January snow. Patience, spring is near. Maybe I’ve been given this time to explore, to eliminate facades, shear away the blindness I had succumbed to. Contemplate unknown religious branches. Discover true peace of mind. Breathe. Steady air intake, focus—focus on the carbon dioxide leaving your lungs, the oxygen traveling past quavering lips.

Love is an unknown, I’d like to keep it that way.

Love is an unknown.