Jessy

She brings out the best in me; she brings out the worst in me. She is all I want; she is everything I rail against. She knows what she desires; I don't know what I want; it is up to me to fulfill it. Do I love her? Yes. Do I like her? Yes. Do I wish to find out every bit of her there is to find, fill every space with her thoughts and mine alone, perpetually falling off fragile surfaces into what is swirling just above abyss? Yes. .

Then why don't I say it? What is it about me that makes me hang back, that checks myself before submerging into the moment, clear and assured of my movements? Why is it that I love, or not? Smile: it is the least I can do. Lying is much easier to achieve when you mean it. Not that I intended to lie, it just manifests itself at the oddest times, inserting itself wherever needed to create confusion at best, anger and sadness everywhere else. The truth his that I have not known her that long, and I don't know if that's a prerequisite for true love.

What am I looking for?  If it is love then my heart is weaker than I had imagined.  If it is sex then my mind is more afraid than I had imagined.  Surely I must know by now.  I know the answer is somewhere in my heart, pulsing as the pacemaker charges.  But for it to make sense is perhaps too much, that in trying to find the answer I will cover the question to it.

She says I need to live in the moment, zone out the future the past and know only what it is like now, right here, between you and I.  My heart has never been pulled this way before.  Pulled yes, but not in this direction of love, full with the moment, gouged deep into the earth, irrevocably noticable.  I need to let go of my heart; I am afraid it will get hurt, or hurt itself.  But out there is the only place where my heart can truly love, and if and when it is hurt it will hurt, but it will be love all the same.

Running Screaming Shouting Jumping Sleeping

Everyone is open to interpretation.  Sometimes it seems as if there are too many notes in the world, that the song you want to find is lost in-between cars, buses, skyscrapers, egos, and chaos. Life is unformed, and I agree that we are playthings of nature. We are the victims of what we want our lives to be, instead of what they truly are, in front of our eyes, not making sense because of all the noise around us.  I am glad you are here.  We are the stranglets of our time, burning bridges as we fly, only running away from ourselves, shirking responsibility as we walk, wandering up above long after bedtime, telling others to do the same.