the obvious, sheltered

strung between us is the obvious suspended because, as you sit with your chin leaning onto your palms, you change directions sans transitions as though nothing is happening and all is static. it’s a game; a frustrating game and the rules unknown to me. the sun sinks, concealing its rays, and I wonder for a moment if you are not the sun controlling shadows and etching melancholy on bodies with your disappearance. the evening grows cold and the day dies. the familiar obviousness--silently luring above—widens the distance between us, turning us into strangers.

the death of a belief, the murder of beliefs

there comes a time when all of our beliefs and ideologies come to a halt; when our foot, wild and clumsy, slips—an irrevocable act—only to fall onto the brakes, despite our attempt and desire to continue on the road carefully built by our ancestors as their cattle began to die; despite our knowledge of the devastating repercussions of such a slip: we will have no inheritors on this now empty and narrow road; despite the emotional eruptions within that will surely diminish all relationships and the promise of immortal love; the fall is planned.

crossing paths

i’m reminded of the silence that once spoke peripherally through our slight, subtle glances: glances always drawn like a child peering through a window, unnoticed, cautious, fearful, hiding behind the receding light. this is all pure as honey. from this i create a story that stirs the heart, sends my mind to pulsate with the thought of proximity and silk.
the glances propel a shackled memory: one tied to an open interpretation-- an open corridor where two figures sway endlessly, like lost shadows moving and colliding like a split self seeking to reunite, reassemble an imagined notion.
but, what is invoked is never confirmed.
it is in that brief flash that i lose myself.