It's very hard to wax poetic about the mundane
... to compose symphonies about the everyday
or write haikus about non-events
To talk about something you're not even sure of...
I feel as though I'm spinning around a bit and the
universe is completely still...And silent.
...I'd like a crystal ball and Joshua Radin's
album to help me sift through...
It seems I care...
Trying to be so understanding of a situation I do
not actually understand...
Keeping silent to prove a point... Then realizing
it's not a point I should have to proove
Having to be "mature" about things
I bloody HATE it
In the process of long-distance and constant
compromise what gets inside the pie chart and
what's left out cold on the white un-lined paper?
Nobody said it was easy...
But nobody said it was this hard
But then when I juxtapose d confusion with the
moments of akward perfection... Your kooky ears and
non-rhythmic dance... Your jokes that sometimes
aren't funny to anyone but you... Your kind spirit,
How you always want to make everything alright...
Your ability to just "be".
The meals that you believe you can make...
Moments of great take-out...
The fact that I get to "be"
Sunshine... Warm breezes and sandals...
Joy & Story & Character & Honesty
Who understands the gander?
It is possible to be part of something
yet outside looking in on it?
Is it possible to not know everything there
is to know about a person yet feel a part of their core?
Is it possible to participate minimally but
be invested maximally? Or the reverse?
Or create a median of the two?
Is it possible to make time move backwards,
then forward and just stop suddenly.
Then make it pick up again and start
spinning against its own axis?
Is it possible to confuse yourself even
further when writing to make sense of things?
Your certainty unnerves me...
So I'm leaving this one to the universe, Sia & time.
Jesus take the wheel.
Friday, August 26, 2011
Posted by Overwhelmed Naija Babe at 1:33 AM