I used to keep looking for your face in the photos you didn't take;
though I pointed the lens at you.
And you're going to tell me to stop, just like you always did.
The reflection you can't melt into isn't what sounds right for you, right now.
Time keeps passing, you'll keep laughing, but I'm ready right now.

And when you unpacked your bags, was it sad?
Saying goodbye to the dreams you had, scorning the road where it differs from memory.
Tree-hedges untrimmed and tangling the lines those high-eyes once followed when you were wondering what the hell I was taking a photo of.
And now those moments are lost and gone; other than a snapshot reflection.
And if you hate it so much, why do you keep yourself drawing maps that always wrap back around and stop?

     Pushing boundaries wasn't enough, no. You have to jump states, relocate from place to place and scorn the word "home". And still there's somewhere you need to be, to be able to be doing what you need to be doing. When studying one's dream leads to frightening nightmarish awakenings, you drew a new map.
     Under every cover you don't use to sleep with, often lays awake a brain drained of recognition. Each day is only known by the marks on the calendar drawn in his head. And there's isn't much else to prove when all you do is for showing an invisible audience that what you knew all along was right. Wisdom proves nothing when you deny the ability to wise up. It's always too much - while you can't seem to be doing nearly enough.
     I grew cold more slowly than the fall, and the future fell unto me without wisdom or warning. What you want, you know, is just something to show. And by the time you prove yourself right, there won't be a soul watching. There's no soul in your ambitions, and there's no soul in your intentions. And when he thought he'd made the right decisions, all the wrong reasons were listed. It was never above him, and despite all his wishes - he never ascended. Just a name hanging around on the bottom of my shit list.

As long as we're able to ask ourselves, and as long as we're unable to answer each other's questions... we'll always be left wondering. Just years ago, if you wanted to know why something worked a certain way - or how, you just had to ponder it. You had to ask people that might know how to answer you, and if they don't know the answer... then you just had to keep wondering.
     Times change invariably, undeniably without argument. Each moment feels different than the last; even when eerily similar... still different. When I was a child, things moved more slowly. Information, interest, investigations.... song titles, album release dates. Concert hall openings & closings, who's playing at what bar and when. Information's now instant. And no matter how hard you try to fight it, just to slow down for a moment... Just to spin the world your way at least once. It's not going to happen. It's never going to work out that way. The seconds spent worrying are wasted; each slipping more quickly than the last. Faster, and faster, and faster....

and faster.
And faster.

They say that love is the best kind of medicine,
so let me give you some sugar.
'Cause it ain't the healing that's sweet, it's the rescue.
And somehow, you can get stuck waiting for a cure that never pulses through these veins the same... Never quite the same, you know. And still, the high never seems to change. I want to dream about this differently - I want to see this in a different way, devoid of irrational ghosts of what was once obtainable, but now seems to refuse to fade. Whatever ends up being written, I hope, reads lovingly on my grave.

Honey, we all got a lot of decisions that need to be made.
& you're eyes would shine, but not like the crystal ball.
I used to pity those who were prideful, and now I'm quite proud of myself.
When you wanna slouch, I'll stand tall.
I ain't got a thing to prove, because when I do speak... my words say it all.
I used to pity those who knew only to love what they liked knowing they had,
but knowing I walked into the door when it should have been shut has shown me...
several depressing things aren't really worth the time for pitying.
And everyone can tell when you know you're wrong, I think you know this. Avoidance, and distance.. such comforts never provide you the solace you'd own; if things would stop reminding.
Honey in your tea will remind you.
Honey, don't ponder what bothers you when you're busy as a bee.
And we all have got such decisions to be made, throughout each day and when resting at night. We're told that it's normal. But I'll tell you it ain't.

     When I was younger, I used to think I was different. I thought I was special and unique, I thought things would get more simple as I aged. And I thought responsibility was a privilege. I've been wrong, and I've been wronged... and I've been sorry when I shouldn't have been. But in truth and honesty, and despite everything once thought of me; all I want is my own home and a family. A husband that loves me, and a place to call my own personal hell that pays me every week. I want to struggle, but not alone. And I want to match regrets with the things in life I must accept. I want to move forward and rip off the rearview mirror  and say 'fuck you', and mean it. I love you, I do. It's true.

What always seemed so solid, after close inspection; reveals itself as tightly-packed molecules moving more slowly past one another than we seem to be able to move. Yet never so clear as glass. Some time will come, and such paths will cross - cold absent stares and pink cheeks gently highlighting that both are aware of each body in space, in passing. It's like a repeat episode of a favored show;
     Still such a familiar storyline. Yet, somehow, it's different this time. Like the end isn't going to pull a tie to bring what's meant to be back together as such. It used to be a rush to be acknowledged in lush blossoms of words; richly entangled in nonsense, yet diligently delivering a message. As if we worked the floors in the black-and-white years of 1904; the beat would be the tapping of coded messages. Rocking and nodding and prodding for more, just working the floor. Like I'd work conversation, asking the right questions so you'd answer in my favor; to keep my self-worked in tact, to do my ego a favor.
     When the temperature drops, I tend to move up. Placing my knees on the stairs in front of me, and my hands above them. Pushing forth with all the force I am able to churn. Though the day's grown long and my will has grown weak. If it's asking too much, I'll just stay on the stairs to sleep. And I know if it were known that I were laying dead in my path, you wouldn't follow the ghosts of my future tracks; never once acknowledge that we could both know what it all meant to me.

I like the way certain scenes in movies give you a familiar feeling; like you're driving down a road you thought you were lost on... and suddenly you realize you've been there a few times before. The familiarity is a little vague at first, and then it's almost like a memorization processing through the entertainment from not quite being able to remember every detail, until it's studied.


That's a feeling I used to hate, but the older I get, the more humbling these sensations become.

Sometimes, I wake up through a fog of confusion and - despite wishing I'd slept longer, I don't mind being awake. When I dream too much about things that seemed intangible, it makes waking out of a sleep feel a little more like walking through a revolving door. I know I could get back inside, but it would take a lot of effort... and the payoff probably isn't nearly as worth it as I had dreamt it could be. When I hear sirens, I feel instantly guilty. I know it's illogical, because sirens in the distance can't possibly be mapped back to something I had done to contribute negatively. I still can't help but feel a little guilty, and hope for the best.
     And maybe, one day, when the sirens ring out in my name, someone will hear and wonder, just as I had wondered... and we may be otherwise silently connected through this.

I just hope for the best, until then.
when I wake up, or lay down for sleep. Or when the phone rings with a number unknown. Or when someone taps on the door when I wasn't expecting them too. And more often then not, I'm too afraid to answer. So I'll tiptoe upstairs and peak out the window... and the moments the creep by as I crawl upwards for the test; I just hope for the best.