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.