Coffee Beans

Our countertop will have coffee stains on it, but no one will ever drink coffee because we will keep each other wired with fast heart beats and quick playing chords of guitars and heart strings so soft that only a blind man could hear, unless it were anyone else that were you and me.

It is just how we live: making messes of things that we never knew could exist or did exist, and never picking it up because stumbling over it is the least of our concerns. We will live in love, without using any of the senses outside our fingertips and we will never know where we are, except  that it is home and if either us ever needs to cross the street we will ask the butterfly outside the kitchen window to show us the way.

We will go to the grocery store and buy things that we will never need, except socks for our feet because we must be warm when we’re together especially while making the coffee every morning, because that is what will make our love poem.

Breaking the Sky

I wait for the thunderstorm.

I wait for the rain to sing, to echo off your skin into a song that only I know but thousands hear.

I wait for the lightning in your eyes, for an orange passion that flies by thousands but only into my hands. I wait to hold that passion live and lifeless.

I wait for you to swallow the thunder, to have thousands pass you by while only I breathe the life back into you.

I wait until I can break the sky- until I can make it cry and strike and shout for you, but not at you.

I wait until I know that I can be there for you if it happens to miss.

They Have Strength

They have strength and all you can do is want it. All you can do is watch them with so much wonder; you just hope that one day you can be as strong as they are. They are your heroes and you want so badly for them to be able to look up to you the way that you look up to them.

So you do what you can, which is usually what they say for you to do. You bring them the certificates and you hope that they can just be proud of you. Even though you have been trying with all your might, you hardly get more than a passing glance.

They realise that they are your heroes. They realise that once you know that you have always been stronger than they are, they will hardly get to hold such a rank in your life. You are their hero, they are just too strong to admit it.

Reflecting Upon One’s Self

I decided that it is time for a moment of narcissism. I tend to reflect on the world around me, but I figure I cannot do that if I do not even know the perspective from which I am looking. So, here goes, facts about myself that I knew, branched off into ones that I did not know.

- I am extraverted, yet I do not feel that this requires speaking around other peoples.

- I end friendships on a whim. I grow sick of people very easily, which is not something of which I am proud.

- I want to run away and just keep running. I do not have problems which I intend to avoid; I just want to meet new people constantly, and not have to worry about commitment.

- I would like to define love. This includes its origin, and what it is worth to me.

- I believe everything happens for a reason, but it bothers me that no one expects the reason to be a negative sort of one.

- I think I have finally grown to an acceptance of my self/my existance and I have never felt further out of my comfort zone.

- I may be afraid to grow attachments: I am definitely afraid to discuss this with myself.

- I feel happiest when I am singing. I have felt this way since I was in kindergarten but I have yet to stop thinking that it is just a phase.

- I trust the world way too much, and I know this, but do not plan to change my ways. I decided that those that believe man is inherently evil are either arrogant or unpleased with their selves and I do not want that for my self.

- I thrive to live in a world of passion and crude sophistication.

- I may not have a conscious for lying, and I am terribly great at it. I think it is how I was raised.

- I do not recall when I became agnostic, I just know that it was inevitable the entire time.

- I do not know that I can define what is “too much information”. I always say what is on my mind and I scarcely see a reason to say anything else.

In My Hands

I love how the winter wind is the least ominous of all. It lets you know that it is there. It bites, it stirs, and it roars. It does not shy away or fear you; it embraces you. Sometimes, if you really know how to respect it, it gives you a hug.

Last Wednesday, I tried to hold the winter wind in my hands I stood outside passionately, in a blue dress and barefoot in five inches of snow, and I told the winter wind that we belonged together. I told it that I was meant to protect it and to keep it going.

The winter wind tried to listen, it really did. It flew right into my strongly cupped hands. Sadly though, we both knew that it was too great, mighty, and rambunctious for such a thing to work out: so it slipped away within seconds.

Disappointed yet understand, I contemplated how I could pursue this newly desired relationship. I decided to hold hands with the winter wind. I held out my left hand, the one that I trust the most, and I told the winter wind to hold it: this would mean that it trusted me as its guide.

The winter wind really listened. It held on so tight, and with such great passion that eventually my hand grew fragile. It turned to every sort of cool colour, and it numbed. I felt at one with the winter wind, and I felt happy.

I went on a walk that way; holding hands with the winter wind. It was a marvelous walk until I realised that people were staring at the barefoot girl in the blue dress, grasping at nothing. It was then that I noticed that the winter wind had left me. I was devastated, and I turned quickly and ran looking for that winter wind, that friend I had held so dear. I was not ready to let go, not yet.

I found it, not four blocks from where our bond was made. I asked it why it had left me, and why it wanted me to be all alone. I told the winter wind that I loved it. It was silent, still for a long, contemplative moment. Thinking I had lost it, I almost went off to look for it again.

The winter wind fluttered through my hair and whispered in my ear. It told me that I could not let go soon enough. Winter winds cannot stay forever. It reminded me though, that the moon is up every night, so I may like to befriend it. Teary-eyed, I thanked the winter wind and went on my way.

The winter wind probably does not think that I noticed, but it did follow me on my way home. It comforted me to know that it was so concerned for my safety. It led to a sort of… “You do care!” epiphany.

And that is the story of the time I tried to hold the winter wind in my hands.

They do not

You can lie in bed with a cashmere robe and a silk blanket and still be uncomfortable.

You can stare at a ceiling covered with paintings by Monet and see nothing beautiful.

You can stick your feet out of the covers on a winter night and feel no chills.

You can love someone with all your heart and still be unhappy.

Because they don’t love you back.

Locke

8 pounds, 7 ounces; A new born baby boy. Follow me, young one, to your lock and your key, it is now time for you to get your blank slate. Write on this what you will, hold the pencil with any hand you like. You’re shaping your future now, you are beginning to create your life.

Of course I hold the lock and the key. Why would you ever get ones of your own? None of this is really yours, after all. Hush now, just come along. If you ask too many questions you’ll never see. Never see what? Yes, I can see every question you’re asking: They’re all swimming around in those deep, shallow, oceanic blue eyes…. Shallow as in selfish, darling. If you keep asking all these questions, what you will never see is this slate.

Yes, it looks very old indeed. The slate is created with history. It is made up of all the years behind you. Seeing as how this is 2009, that’s a lot of years. You should be gentle, you may harm it though… If that is what you wish to do with your future.