Coeur

[...and continues opening. Sarah Paddison]

I felt your presence, through the smoke of a Midsummer’s Night. Felt your ashen grey threads caress the air as ghosts emerged from a dying ember. And the tears crept into my glassy eyes, lips curling into a broad smile as my heart skipped a beat. These effervescent things fade quickly, yet I could feel your warmth linger for a protracted, blissful minute. Sixty seconds of perfection--my eyes caught sixty seconds of perfection, and held on to each and every silvery whirl of euphoria.

Laufen,unendlich Laufen...

Round three. We share a common goal. You run; you run until the dirt below your feet begins to disintegrate into dust, particles falling off the earth in heaping mushroom clouds. You run through squalor, through Port-au-Prince, past twenty seven thousand kilometers of malaria, typhoid fever, tuberculosis and HIV. Past two million dying souls and barely formed fingertips. But your feet—they won’t take you past what you endure within your heart.

Round three. I love you and your calloused hands, splintered and hardened by ramshackle two by fours and rotting plywood.

The Hill-Marketa Irglova

A bottle and a half down.
Darling, your face is deviating into Venn diagrams,
And I lose my footing.
Crash down on the stairs, losing my will
Next to you, sitting shotgun in a car
Chain-smoking, shirt disheveled by the pouring rain.
Losing my will, losing my heart piece by piece.

I’m tired of these lonesome evenings.

Choking down sobs, bile in the back of my throat.

Staring out at sunset after sunset, unmoved.
The myriad of oranges and rose colors
The tangible mirage I cannot find the dignity to enjoy.

Big D Big D Big D

& The Rest

CONCERTO

(Favorite picture of the night)

Recap? First time in Providence, pretty good show,

Lots of pictures to edit/send out. Overall? Happy.

Honestly, Tea is probably the greatest discovery of today... I’ve had three 16 oz cups in the past 12 hours. Well, two and a half; the last is in my hand as we speak.

Tea and music I haven't listened to in ages, I crave it=)

I love Thursdays. It’s the one-day I can relax, walk home, soak in idleness and procrastinate a little. Lazy? More like my rejuvenation, catching up on things I would normally overlook. For instance: studying for midterms, Obsv. drawings, fixing old cracks in the walls.

Hello Thursday, I’m drinking down some Teavana and Yogi tea melded into one, scratching some undone tasks off my list. And I’m reading the quote stamped on my first teabag, “Speak the truth.” Mmm, MatéVana, Rooibos, and spiced peach. Donning a white bandana and embracing a dimly lit candlelight vigil. Everything is falling into place, Red at Night is playing--Sink or Swim on shuffle, and hey. A little warmer than usual today, wasn’t it? I can honestly admit I am happy embracing the imperfections; implicit perfection always has a hidden snare trap, wedged deep within the snow or buried underneath fall leaves. I’m beginning to cleanse, body and soul, and I have never felt so…

Alive. So enlightened. Drinking the last few droplets of spiced-warmth. Tonight, not poetry or prose—just thought.

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.