I saw your letter on the table when I walked in. To be honest, I didn't expect to read that you'd left. I had hoped you'd be there, waiting for me. I guess I was out too long. The house must have felt cold. Maybe you'll be back in the morning, but I suppose not. Your pillow is missing from the bed. When people leave, they take their things of comfort. You left behind your toothbrush. Sometimes, when people leave, they leave behind things they might need. Maybe you'll get a new one at the corner store, start new.
I sat down at the table, reading your note. I spilled coffee on it and didn't bother to clean it up. I supposed you'd never see how
she layed herself down on the shore, releasing her hair so it splayed upon the sand about her. A gentle breeze blew, pushing hot sand against her naked body. Below her, the icy sea rose. It would be awhile before those waters would begin to lick at her toes. As the breeze picked up strength, she did not move. The sand whipped at her body, but never once did she wince. She fought the urge to pick her arm up from beside her and shield her eyes from the glaring sun, and focused her mind upon the sounds around her: the gulls in the distance, the waves further away crashing upon the rocks, the gentle shushing of the waves below her feet.
After a
Who Are You?
The small child sat upon the stool
Looking out the window into the unending darkness
She began to dream, and in her mind, she saw her friend
Innocently, she questioned him
Who are you?
You know my name.
Yes, but who are you?
I am sorry, he replied
but you could know me forever, and still not know who I am
She pushed him from her mind and awoke
The darkness alighted
The girl looked to the moon, lighting the sky
Who are you?
Child,you can never know me
Why not?
Part of me is always hidden in shadow from the world
The woman tore her eyes from the moon
And set them upon her reflection in the window
Who are you?
I
swimming in a sea of grey
debris does settle all around
once upon a mountain, looked
now see across a flattened ground
faceless thunder knows no fear
causing each murderous stroke
watch passive the destruction here
beg, drown these fires thou didst first stoke
If only I could find the words
To say what I need to say
If only I could speak so clear
I could mean it no other way
If only you could understand
Exactly what's in my mind
You'd then know how true you speak
When you say I'm a different kind
But I write this slow
And think it through
What are the words
I need to say to you?
I'd rather ask
And hear you say
You understand me anyway...
Anyone up for trying to draw me a spiffy tattoo?
This is the (vague) idea of what I'm after: http://www.deviantart.com/view/24527387/
A chinese dragon to be etched (a version of scarification) across my back and down my side
I can't for the life of me draw it the way I want it...
In other news. I never update this place and that makes me sad. Well, except that doodle of the etching I want...
I really wish I had time to draw more. I've finally procured the pencils I want... now, to use them...
There truly is something to be said for the thrill of developing photographs. Digital pictures you can view instantly but having to wait to develop film, wait to drop it off, wait for it to come back from the developer... the anticipation adds to the glory of the nice photos that finally come out.
Or maybe I'm just a hopeless romatic, of a sort...