Yesterday you told me things that made me shiver.
They just don't fade. The more you try to divert your attention away from them, the louder they get. And closer too. Until they're inside of you. Liquid, and trickling down the insides of your bones. They move things within you, until you realise that things are no longer in your hands. Your fingers are not connected to your palms, your arms are not connected to your shoulders, the corners of your mouth are not connected to your eyes. Yet your heart is connected to your mouth, and you don't know why.
They don't sleep. Even when you do. They whisper words of sin in your ear, and you soak it in. Like a sponge. She told you this, and that, and the other. Why do you not remember? Why do you believe? I wish you knew. You wish I knew. I do know. What did you say? I can't hear you.
Its a smudge now, across the tangible. The intangible was never there in the first place. Its a blur. How do I cross a line that is blurry? These lines are not all the same to me. They are of different lengths, and some of these circles seem to go on longer than the others.
Your words, to me, mean more than you think. More than I think. We think too much. Far too much. In the end, when the lights fade and all these circles come together, it will be time for judgement. Perhaps all that matters in the interim is knowing that waiting is all we can do. And while waiting, we shiver in the cold. The rain drenches us through, and we sigh, holding on to the bubbles that escape from our mouths. It is all we can do, and all we should do. And probably all we need to do.
So give me your lines, and I will give you mine.
And we will lay them down, stand on them, and lean forward into the vast plains so carelessly referred to as the future.
They just don't fade. The more you try to divert your attention away from them, the louder they get. And closer too. Until they're inside of you. Liquid, and trickling down the insides of your bones. They move things within you, until you realise that things are no longer in your hands. Your fingers are not connected to your palms, your arms are not connected to your shoulders, the corners of your mouth are not connected to your eyes. Yet your heart is connected to your mouth, and you don't know why.
They don't sleep. Even when you do. They whisper words of sin in your ear, and you soak it in. Like a sponge. She told you this, and that, and the other. Why do you not remember? Why do you believe? I wish you knew. You wish I knew. I do know. What did you say? I can't hear you.
Its a smudge now, across the tangible. The intangible was never there in the first place. Its a blur. How do I cross a line that is blurry? These lines are not all the same to me. They are of different lengths, and some of these circles seem to go on longer than the others.
Your words, to me, mean more than you think. More than I think. We think too much. Far too much. In the end, when the lights fade and all these circles come together, it will be time for judgement. Perhaps all that matters in the interim is knowing that waiting is all we can do. And while waiting, we shiver in the cold. The rain drenches us through, and we sigh, holding on to the bubbles that escape from our mouths. It is all we can do, and all we should do. And probably all we need to do.
So give me your lines, and I will give you mine.
And we will lay them down, stand on them, and lean forward into the vast plains so carelessly referred to as the future.
posted by sedder at 12:11 pm
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