Requiring redemption—born to mourn—redeemed, fretting
existence. Watches stopping in mid motion. A watchword for beginners. And pleading
was delightful. I appear at times, in a strange situation, contact,
electricity, walking away. Love blew static, to explode an arc, we carry on
like invisibility. It meant much to me, others laughed, like I was appreciating
an apple tree; mixed in deliverance and need, dreaded and excused, being enlove
should mean sheer desperation; executive measures, CEO tears, going beyond
mysticism; picking names, wishing for a gender, crying at a first glance. Speaking
it is living it. Treasuring it is winning it. And lying is hurting—afraid of
love, accepting loneliness for plethora. As one ages, as one dies, to need
where habits defy desperation. Running to pain. Asking for deliverance,
fighting to change. Love moving yarn. To agree and win. To select lifestyles. I’ve
let go, as an observer, appreciating beauty—not hourglass in skin, not a kite
upon a dream, rather, a thin, delicate thread of existing, of managing hurt, a
channel underground.
