More oversharing from my emo xmas .....Dont worry itll be done by New Year Vapour trails.... It is a clear day . Impossibly , miraculously clear . It is March in Berlin. This weather should be elsewhere. the sky says summer and the trees say winter . I do not question it I do not look for deeper understanding. I do not read anything into it . Today is a good day to sit outside, even alone. especially alone . I am impatient sometimes. I do not like to waste time because i really dont know how much I have to waste . I suppose nobody does. I need to learn to let time take its own course . It doesnt matter if i do not finish my book . It doesnt matter if the dishes are in the sink. it does not matter if she does not return . it does not even matter how I feel about it . It is a nice day. And i have nowhere to be . Walking out , away from the dishes away from my work away from the confusing news into the day I am struck by the sky . It rings me like a bell until I am vibrating at the depth and length of it at exactly the same frequency as the colour of the air until we are equal in our distance from the earth wrapped around and holding touching everything and everyone inside and out witness and stage for the baffling dance . that great circle of sky is scratched and raked with lines comings and goings the leavings of people doing important things because there is no time to waste We can fly across the world and never know the distance we have travelled . in half a day we are a lifetime away It is so easy to go. and go and go and go to join these faint lines criss crossing the sky with our hopes and sorrows searching for content in our mad rush for peace miles above me some howling jet I cannot hear is roaring through the icy curve of sky heading somewhere, maybe even somewhere as sunny as this, and on the plane, people are possibly eating small meals unwrapping the plastic, avoiding each others elbows unaware of the miles behind and beneath them unaware of the miles between them they are a dream of the past and future as they wish for their destinations It is better to travel hopefully than to arrive . I heard that once on some hopeless journey . I suppose it depends who you are sitting next to . one plane flies through the sun and where its line joins the circle its past is broken faded at the edges forgotten for a moment in its tracks I sip my coffee , and watch the travellers I cannot see. it could be you, up there, never to return quietly roaring across the sky. it could be my love seeming, at a distance, to be so serene . to be silent and peaceful gently tracking the sky leaving a trail , almost like clouds almost like memory hardly there at all After a time. If I had a watch I could learn exactly how long it takes for them to fade and then I might have a destination too I have found a strange peace even here . Especially here . there is a cross in the sky I briefly imagine myself hanging there . in agony at the comings and goings standing at the crossroads waiting for a well dressed stranger to make a deal between the gods and man Like the murder of Jesus . there are always choices that, looking back, seemed so simple I take another sip of coffee I smoke another cigarette and feel the moment the smoke kicks up and seems to almost join the lines of going and it as though my breath was searching for her memory in the exhausted smoke, reaching up to join her skywritten goodbye . i am so glad i stopped drinking i can enjoy the sunshine I can read the sky I know what i am feeling I left a lot last year Many scratches on the sky I imagine myself on one of those machines up there. Hopefully going or returning . wishing the air away . I can hardly see myself going somewhere from here . I am trying not to feel sorry for myself I am trying to distance myself from pain for everybodys sake. I have a high pain threshold Nearly as high as those little planes inching across the sky . perhaps I must add her love to the list of things I cannot afford . I can afford this coffee though and this cigarette . i see two distant specks burning across the sky that seem as if they might meet and for a second , perhaps , rival the sun in brilliance to shower down a metal rain of hopes and sorrows in one meeting flash of absolution of finality of decision. They do not meet . They pass , just apart miles apart their awareness of each other no more than a blip on the radar as they continue doubling the distance between themselves as they straighten the curve of the earth tracing different directions around the same centre . the almost clouds they leave meeting for a moment as they break and fade into the thin cold hieghts and dissolve in the great bowl of sky. The passengers , are probably sipping cocktails and eating peanuts . They are might be flicking through magazines filled with things they do not need . They are breathing each others air We are all breathing each others air while I sitting here imagine a tender goodbye that may never be . and plant a well wishing kiss on the sky . and hope it grows in The same air she flies through perhaps , I have found in loss and solitude, in the silence beyond my ringing ears some part of what you seek . and very soon I will cast it into the air and marry it to the dream of the world.
Posted on: Sun, 28 Dec 2014 16:39:46 +0000
Trending Topics
Recently Viewed Topics
© 2015