Hidden languages
At dusk one can sit within the trees and listen to the frogs. The smells of a cool evening settling upon the skin. Yes, dear honesty, I could write forever of a pair of old faded blue jeans and barefoot spring days.
If you don't mind, I've been changing lately. My head is no longer scattered and de-fragmenting reality to fit the puzzles within. Learning to sit outside myself just for a moment with the complete trails of unattached breeze language. What to say about and over all of these intricate arrivals of thirsting tree roots is nothing, is a bus ticket to nowhere and screaming as loud as I can to stay silent. It hardly means anything anymore to know who we really are.. just that we are.
I don't mind staying patient forever, and have no thirst for the hungry ways to devour our sleeping-over selves just for the want to get lost in the pain.
Only to just keep sweeping in this breeze of pure divinity.
Life feels so surrounded and whole when I have nothing to say in defense.
..and to just fall beside sleep,
because
always
life is like a cat,
and good heavens
you're beautiful when you don't have a promise.
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