I caught a glimpse of the sunrise in your eyelashes. It played with the possibilty of happiness, then was pushed over the edge of reality and a new day was hopelessly here. Tomorrow had finally come and today slipped away silently into yesterday’s arms. I saw you cling to the frayed rope of denial for a little while longer before you opened your eyes and knew you now faced what most people call a new day. The presence of light supposedly symbolising fresh starts all around, ignoring that the world hasn’t had a real fresh start since the flood. Everything was supposed to be clean, but really it made quite a mess of things. So good morning, love, I hope you mess it all up like your hair in the mornings after you’ve tossed and turned much like an ocean I once read about. Regardless of where the sun dances, the day is yours. Grasp it, embrace it, and never forget it. For it too will abandon you for the arms of yesterday and you’ll be left with the strange familiarity of another tomorrow.
Now and then I think of all the times you screwed me over
But had me believing it was always something that I’d done
And I don’t wanna live that way
Reading into every word you say
It’s back again. That incessant hunger. That deep, crippling longing. The loneliness. The disappointment. The fear, teetering on the brink of panic. The need to escape.
The tears don’t come. The calm scares me more than it should. The emptiness is overwhelming. I’ve never been overly emotional, but this…this is more death than life.
I just spent several minutes looking in the mirror in the dining room. I looked into my eyes, searched for some familiar territory. There was nothing. Nothing familiar, nothing strange, simply a reflection of two tired eyes looking back at me. Empty.
This is not who I want to be.
This is not me.
Tell me something beautiful. Whisper to me the secrets of the stars and the stories of the trees. Take me to that place where innocence still thrives and laughter is carried on the wind.
Let me hope for a better tomorrow.
I really want to fall in love.
Love sings a song as she sails through the sky.
The water looks bluer through her pretty eyes.
And everyone knows it whenever she flies,
and also when she comes down.
falls drop by drop upon the heart
until, in our own despair, against our will,
comes wisdom through the awful grace of God. Robert F. Kennedy (April 4, 1968)