Monday, October 12, 2015

Short Cuts 1

You have potential, I've said the first time I saw you, and for a long time you sat still, as frozen in time, before replying, no I have not.

Our perspectives were different. You saw the world, I saw what it could be. Now we just both see the world, and melancholy is our constant.


I remember you. Your skinny body. Your unruly hair. The way you looked at me sometimes, as if I wasn't real.

I wasn't. Our reality was an illusion. But not at first. What started off as a joke came to be. What came to be was beauty. And beauty, as time passes, always subsides.


When did that happen? When did things…? Oh, forget it. I know the answers to all the questions. When it comes to us.

It all began with my cowardice. My unwillingness to sacrifice some of my personal space. And with my stubbornness. If I could go back, well, I would change nothing, because then what was true to us would seize to be.


Life. They say that it moves in circles, but it doesn't. Death may be the recycler but birth, no matter how many times it happens, is not the creator. It's simply the mother of all repetition.


My thoughts do not arrive whole, but in pieces, like shots of vodka. Great when ice cold, not so good when warm.

I try to smile and I cry. The great paradox. Or rather the parody of being. What I need to say I will, but only when drunk. When uninhibited. Though that I have never been...

To be continued

The image was taken from here

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