An hour and a half -- that's how long it took for me to travel home today. I woke up on the whining train to the piercing yellowed lights of the train cabin, feeling a slight headache coming on. Was it my sleeping posture, or was it simply these words struggling to form inside my head? Try as I might, I just couldn't get back to sleep. Counting the stations with my eyes closed, a truth came thumping upon my forehead.
Neither my eyes nor my imagination have mercy on me these days. I still see things in the same extravagent fantasy I used to. Little nuggets of our everyday life still lay scattered around me, calling out to me to pick them up. How could I resist?
For example, the strangest and most attractive parts of women's bodies showed themselves to me today. The back of a woman's knee can whet the appetite like the succulent silky folds of a ripe oyster's muscle. The locks of another roar brown and walnut gold in cascading nectar falls, tickling playfully her pearl-smooth shoulders, teasing and whispering a siren song of their trails of hot naked skin.
How does one hide from such incredible music that flows through the soul? For in each picture-perfect sighting, I see a fragment of you. But it is also through this music, that an invisible conductor waves his demanding baton to signal the descent into a somber chorus.
Yes, things have changed -- more accurately, the conditions have changed. All the little things point to suggest this. While I had successfully built my world all around you over the past year, I can no longer do so nor expect that you do so in return. To be truthful, I had assumed that a year was long enough to know and understand you; nothing reveals like patience and time combined. So this is also you.
But we are like flowers blossoming, merely opening up to become more truely what we really are. I wanted to show and accept you into the center of my life, but it now seems so selfish and impossible. Because you always had your life to live, and I should be satisfied that I am a part of it, not the center. Oh, but the craving to belong and feel so special again...
So fly, butterfly. Within your wings lie your field of blossoming petals, and in your nectar flutter-trail this flower will try once again to open up and shine. The old magic is still there, hidden within the shifting sands of our shared time. Perhaps one day we'll rediscover the fascination for one another that haunted our days and nights not so long ago. But for now, grow we must. And endure I will.
I'm stil all about you. Are you, too?
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