Tuesday, January 24, 2012


I'm here.
There's a train due south somewhere, the trip takes hours and it's just about empty. The scenery is breath-taking, hills. Green hills. I'm inside with a book, but I drift on and off into the pages. Two kids pass the cabinet by, one chasing the other. My soul longs to engage in a childhood game, but there's no one to share that joy with. I smile nonetheless, innocence still stands.

I'm there.
They're here. Isn't here where you are? But the you means I, and so I should be here but I'm not. I want to be here, but I'm half-here half-there. I'm always in between. It's as if I was destined to be some sort of link to things, or people. In essence, I'm not myself linked to anything by itself, I stay because of the things I protect, the things I keep glued together. The role I play isn't entirely my own. I can't claim the play mine merely because I play a role in order for it to continue.

She's away.
Life abides outside her window, darkness pressing itself all around her. She walks barefoot to make sure she's connected to things around her. You're here, she reminds herself. Don't drift away again.

He's out there.
You can't be sure where exactly. He dwells here and there. Unlike me, he's not in between. He's on an end, the giving and receiving end. He doesn't merely exist, he's alive. You may not understand, who does anyway?

You're all around.
Someday I will cling to you, tug at your sleeve, give you a tired smile, look at you through my own eyes, forget what the world says, laugh at all your jokes, share all my secrets, cry passionately, demand and ask the impossible of you. You'll do the same, and together we'll be... honest.

They belong in your heart. They nourish there, your heart holds them most fervently. 

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