In Love with a View

It's incredible the way time can pass without you noticing. I took a refreshing breath tonight when I remembered how it felt to hear a song and become as depressed as the tragic hero who wrote it; this time I couldn't sympathize, only remember.

I love the feel of summer heat and summer romance, but like the wind we all move on. I feel great tonight - so much better than I've felt in a long time. I don't know if it's love for someone or something that I've been missing far too long, or if it's love of something even bigger than immortal love itself.

In fact, I don't even know what I'm talking about.

This is one of those rare instances in which I find myself fine, satisfied, looking at a picture of someone long fallen out of my reach without jealousy, anger, hostility, or any other slew of pent-up and suppressed emotion surfacing to override any happy memory I owe myself.

This is my seven hundredth post. I could never make a living with the thoughts that flow through my head, but I love this simple pleasure and the simple pleasure of memories.

Blur

Time always has a way of creeping up on me, especially when I think it has come to a sugary slow stop.

As I sit here on this last night I'll be spending at home, I can't help but contemplate how this has happened once again. Old friends trying new things, like relationships and drugs; new friends trying old things, like recalling childhood television favorites and having the same mannerisms. It seems as though time has gradually melded everything different into something rather the same.

Life sure is beautiful.

There is, however, one frustration that must naturally come of all this:

I'm tired of these mother fuckin' snakes on this mother fuckin' plane!

Standing on the precipice of big time. Again.

"Perfect love drives out all fear."

But most people go away. Where? Into themselves? Out of themselves? Flirting with disaster all around themselves?

I don't get it anymore. I want to, but I just don't. It's something that came so easy to me before the day I wrote it down; now that I have, all it has become are words on paper and thoughts thrown to the wind.

Where did it go? Will it come back? Who will find who first? Is anyone looking? Is anyone there? Will it ever happen again?

If you don't know what I'm talking about, that's alright; I realize I'm being vague enough. I wrote this one more for me than for you. Why did I post it, then? Because I damn well can.



(...Huh?)

Another Frank Sinatra kind of twilight

It's funny how the memory of love can leave you in such bittersweet enchantment. Just the sight of the stars some nights can send me to that infinitely untoucheable "back there" when I am sure "back there" had never been there.

I suppose the world would be a much uglier place without dreams and kisses and all the softest things you can ever remember all in a pair of spell-binding eyes. And truly - where would we be without the butterflies and the firsts and the uncertainty and the hesitance? ...Still in ninth grade.

Certainly, sometimes it hurts to be one unit rather than part of a set. But to know the difference implies that perhaps that long-ago time filed in the "back there" section of life is, in fact, not so far back.

There is nothing for me but to love you
Just the way you look tonight.