Cut the Lines

It seems, that at the SEAMS - we're so eager for a change of life again, and I'm just, ..I just,…FEEL like it won't embark already. 

Not sure how to cut the lines. 

Cause when you're sailing a single little Laser by yourself - and the wind is finicky and too stale - you can lean yourself all the way to the side all you want. You can shake the boat and shout all you want. 

To all the "heart's content" you can make such a NOISE.

But, hah, -- you still won't be flying across that lake of waves… 

And all that metaphor doesn't even mean anything I guess…the temperatures are dropping, and the season's over. The HEAT, you may say is slipping away. 

But it's been...it's merely been begging for more instigation. 

So why don't you- my friend, and I, sit down and share some new stories. Why don't we breathe in cinnamon and exhale - and why don't you tell me something new I haven't lived. 

I'd like something I haven't lived to have - to love on it. 

Well, maybe not loved -
but in that amber, illuminated way - enjoy and be filled -
and have a NEW place to be haunted by... 

Since, oh.., all my haunts 
have been there too long. So long, ya know…I once begged: "give me all those dead things from lives past" …. but today they're just dead to me. 

They're just brittle to the touch - like the soon-to-be-browning leaves - 
they'll break when I TRY to GRASP them. 
They'll stain when I try to POCKET them. 

Pocket it. 

They keep telling me to… Change. Quit. Stay. Return. Leap. 

But I can't seem to know (just) which line to cut first. 

When I can't seem to want any particular direction. 

This endless, wistful staring up-
 at the should-be-blustery skies. 

This shouting at nothing. 

This successful loneliness so oddly played. 

Daily headphones: Indie Arie's "Heart of the Matter" 

Acting

I think I'm nearly done running away. Think it might be time to go back where I started.

(And so begins the long way back...) 

Back to where I went back already - where the inspirations came with every belt of star, chirp of late summer bugs, and leaves upon leaves on all the trees. 

Go back to where I fell. And where I fell in love. 

And out.

Was out in the cold -- but the cold sparkled, and it was a faith I prayed to in the nook between the holly trees.  

Cause I'm really going to hell already - breaking a once-good(always good?) heart. That killing of time before you change - and can't pretend anymore. Any longer. 

I'm waiting just a little longer to say the words my mind's repeating. The ones that just aren't true to have anymore. The ones that should have been discarded seasons ago with the boots with the worn-away heel. 

Forgive me maybe? - I fear I'm the romance that I've already had. 

I've already had - and so I already know - there's nothing like the earthquake there. 

While somewhere in the sweet soft night one man stops and whispers - 

And she answers --

 - with that remembrance of how it might hurt - 

That's how it goes when reasoning keeps losing.

When you can't just keep the distance and pretend - 

when you can't disguise yourself into....anything, 

then it's coming down, -- you're left with, oh... something else--

when you can't act, you're left with actually feeling. 

And feeling makes the confused night so long with someone not quite there.