Second season I am to know

You are my phantom limb.
You're there in an awkward limbo, a not-quite-memory. I wish I wasn't too weak to help. Nowadays my life is disconcertingly simple. I can't get used to it. The simplicity is so complicated, so confusing that I can't comprehend it. My brain is subconsciously searching for faults, grown accustomed to cracked sidewalks and leaky faucets. Finding none, I almost feel empty. I feel there is something missing, but it's probably for the best.
I'm still keeping my secrets, the way I always do, only for the sake the of safety in routine. They've decreased in size, in importance, mere flesh wounds, nothing fatal that would fester the tissues of my mind. My mind is less cluttered, more emotionally sound than it's ever been. I feel I have been healed of these wounds of the past, but the scars remain, sometimes they itch, just begging for me to reopen them. Bring the memories back.
What happened happened and couldn't have happened any other way.
It's like looking at the sun for too long. It's imprinted on your eyelids, burnt into your retina long after the fact. It will fade only with time. As does everything. I'm afraid of the sun. I've been blinded by it's glare. I long for a cool calm night, with the moon to bathe me in silver dipped stars so I can finally be whole again.

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neighborhood nights

I feel like somewhere along my life there was a shift. Suddenly nothing was for fun any more, it was all necessary. Suddenly I'm bothering with what others think, afraid to link any connotations I deem negative to my being. Why do I care what people I've never met, who'll forget they ever saw me, think of me; this obscure stranger in their peripherals. It's a warped sense of mind and place, seeing the space around me in my mind's made up ways. So I stray away from everyone, isolating myself unwittingly, turning them against me. Self fulfilling prophecies, I succeed in creating this reality. I need to break free from my mind's mentalities, with which negativity has propelled me. So I've started a new sport. I call it neighborhood night dancing. Donning headphones and heading out alone to the empty streets as the city sleeps, and moving to the beat. Letting it compel me towards a freedom long gone missing. Letting go is an art. Complete release is a tough ...

enter the struggler

Don't give up. I'm only starting to see the gravity of your situation. the extent of your damnation. In short I don't blame you for your frivolous disposition. I blame myself for not being enough to change it. That came out wrong. I can't, nor do I want to, change you. I just wish I was insentive enough to make you wish to change. Or maybe change is non-existant. I want you to grow. You're playing a static and stagnant role whilst I am flourishing and thriving. I know I'm not the same as I was when we were first in love, but the change is amplified relative your inert stance. I've always cared about you, but that too has been altered by the hand of circumstance. I've known countless feelings for you, attachment, love, lust, caring, anguish, concern. I've always felt something for you. Now it's stronger than ever before. No more silly juvenile notions of "love". I care for you like a sister, a mother, a lover, a friend. You say you don...

ecotone

Instead of mindless expansion we should be expanding our minds. Finding solutions to stop our pollution, to reduce our waste. But we all chase after money and pointless things. Thinking they'll bring us happiness, or self worth. But it's the earth that pays for all the shit we throw away. Make take use, and it's garbage in just a day. But it doesn't just disappear. It's all still here, clogging the Earth's pores with eyesores of giant piles of trash. Every last diaper you've ever crapped in, is still trapped in a landfill. and it'll still be there long after we're gone. Where did we go wrong? When did we split off the evolutionary tree and plant ourselves in the soils of skewed priorities? Working to stay alive, working our nine to five as if the blood that fills our veins is made of money. And I find it funny, when we need air to breathe and this is supplied by trees, we clear cut our forests to build up our factories. We make junk to make a buck, b...

rude awakenings

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