I could never figure it out. People just appear. With
or without thought, an impression is made. The clouds say it best. Those stars
are in demand. The many feelings become ghostly. So many in a given day—to hate
and love and be indifferent. People get so close – as to ignore each other. Art
is revelational. Passion was/is unexpected. To kiss a nape, palm a neck, love
with reverie and pain. The angst of holding through a storm; the battle of
forgiving a best friend; the music meaning so much by tears. By a mirror
pointing at us—to know what remains unsaid. Designing diamonds. Trying to
outwit kitsch. Too close to feel. Too unreal to love. Too painful to trust.
Just limbo, like purgatory, just sitting, waiting, searching for nourishment. To
have adored in passing, what it never meant, so much close enough to heal, to
destroy, or out maneuver, if expected.
