| Mood:- |
incomplete |
| Music:- |
A jumble of radio, television, and half-hearted voices |
The world in the window is grey. It is so, so, utterly grey, bloodless, devoid of color. The white sky pours its light into the branches beneath but it falls through, dies beneath the ground that is weak, crumbling, lifeless. Nothing is held by the day... it is meandering, moving haplessly across the Earth without enthusiasm or hue.
I wish to ask you what I cannot bring myself to say. Why do you ignore what tries to love you? Why do you remove yourself from the words I try to give you? Why do you hate so deeply what has never meant any harm when doing just the opposite would bring you the happiness you are searching for? Why do you simultaneously push away and yearn for something easily within your reach? You are echoing the world, you are conforming to the likeness of its directionless motion. Do you not see that you are forcing your life to fit into a mold, to become a paper cut-out that is blank and vacuous and destitute? It is not what you want, unless what you want has twisted itself in your mind and faded into something selfish and ugly.
Where is the care that you used to show? I am lost as to whether it has been deleted or is desperately missing. My own has been stumbling drunkenly along in this dying universe, where even the stars have been obscured and the cats' claws are too dull to scratch. But I know, I know it is there and is hopeful and faltering, for these questions arise searching for your own and for you. I stare into your soul because it once glittered for me, and I cannot let that rich mystique that held me slip away. You were brown and orange and red and warm and ardent when my eyes stole the image that was in yours, you were energetically fecund, the farmer's perfect fertile soil, vivacious, resplendent! Where are you, where have you staggered to? What has enshrouded your exploding brilliance and stunted your frenetic growth?
I wish to ask of you what I cannot bring myself to say. I long for you to stay. I wish you would consider what seems too abstract instead of throwing it away. I wish you would see what is little. I wish you would comb through me with the confusion that plagues your steps, because I don't want you to be alone, I never want you to be alone. |
