Pure nonsense.

The sun is bright but it's still slightly cold. The bus stop is filled with people and I fall deeply into the music playing in my ears. I recall the glimpse of happiness in the corner of my eye and felt it cautiously sneak up behind me. The warmth of a palm on the back of your neck, fingers slightly sketching across the line of your hair. The comforting sensation of feeling whole. Torn as a number and a destination arrive, the coldness of the lost embrace lingers and falls into a deep hotness once seated on the bus. I looked out the window at happiness and pondered if it enjoyed seeing me this way. And then I remembered, how far away it was soon to be away from me.

---

It's early in the morning and the snow has covered the town in it's glistening powder. Sleepy eyes open to the image of something to beautiful to describe. A face filled with color and a slight hint of being burdened. To think the devil himself could be so beautiful as his slept, more beautiful once the slight sun moves across his face and closed eyes slowly open. Dark pools to get lost in absorbing the day as if it powered the being itself. I always found myself mesmerized. Movements so elegant, quick but efficient. Even in a clumsy moment it almost looked as if it were done on purpose. Adorable yet dangerous. Deep, deep dark water that I was too scared to swim in. Deep dark water I was too afraid to fully understand.

---

The game of mystery is one played by many. We love the excitement is causes, the feelings it brings on. It's easy to become addicted to such things. Fingers moving up the side of stomach under a shirt, gentle and calm but adventurous none the less, or even the way smoke moves past your eyes from the other cigarette beside you. The way words sound coming from certain voices, even the way it feels to be beside another person. Oh yes, these are all quite easy addictive things, I myself have found myself yearning for certain company now and again, even using small mantras to bring me back to the memories, to live within them for just a moment before they once again become vague but important.

===

My mind is moving much faster than my fingers. My eyes are lazy, my heart slowly beating to some rhythm. Some song I've heard before while fingers entwined or the bus flew past me as I walked alone down the street at night. The feeling of running somewhere quickly to say goodbye for what seems like forever, only to realize that it is indeed forever. And having old faces return with new features but the same wonderful smile, soothing and enticing, barely something not to think about. Then again there's so much I should be doing, so many things I could be pursuing yet...I don't.

Placebo effect.

I don't precisely know what to write here. I feel the yearn for passion press at my outer shell waiting to break free and catch. Catch to whom? Or what? Nothing special I guess. Just a scent on a shirt I never owned and piles of books I'm too guilty to read. Meandering is one of my lamest qualities. I'm capable of telling it how it is yet I find my throat swollen whenever I need to say the right thing. The things that are on my mind are yes, not always the kindest. My intentions are always good though, which I suppose to most people doesn't account for much. The willows are crisping and turning from green to amber and all I can think about it bright sun, hot weather, and conversation rolling over the hills of grass. The gasping of my heart as words felt their way around my ear and into my soul. Rambling, like previously mentioned is what I do best and since many things have been sitting in the core of my imagination, it seems my ramble will make less sense than usual. It's a collection of stories, real or not, true or simply exaggerated. Or is it all true? Or is it all just a fictional tale of things lost in my own sanity? How can I conjure such a thing? Well, quite easily. I will just write and you will construe it all as you please. That is what a writer does.That is the purpose of all the words being formed into lines. The reason is simply to get your brain moving. Or is it? Oh, hahaha.

----

The fall is an uneasy time of year for those who dwell in the darkness of winter. Although for many it is the brightest time for their inner beauty to glow. I've never found a season that could fill me with such anticipation, just to leave me disappointed come the first snow fall. Then again, spring is so similar to fall, it seems that time of year will now have a permanent affect on me. These are the seasons of losing, you see. These are the seasons where most things, and especially people, are lost.


---

My dreams are haunted with faces that stall the words on my tongue. Visions of their emotions plainly painted in their eyes. I can't decipher it, or perhaps I am too scared to. For all I know my weakness is what caused this all. The isolation; the dysphoric hate I've developed for myself. Then again it is truly the greatest fault that I cannot find the strength to fight back and re-win what was lost. No. No, I'd much rather remember it fondly and continue my life of wariness.


---

the eyes you hope to see what is written are least likely the ones to stumble upon it. although my faith has lead me to believe that you are gone, the hope that you linger here stays.

---

Perhaps, I am just losing my mind.

Perhaps.

But then again, it's all just temporary.