These are a few of my favorite things.
How badly I miss, looking into someones eyes.
How I miss that glance.
Waiting to meet someone the next day, just to check if she was feeling the same.
Wondering anxiously yet in a pleasant way if she were thinking of you too.
Besides creating things, the only pleasure I find is in experiences.
Experiencing connections, listening to stories, communicating sans words, walking under sunlight filtered through dancing leaves, the silence of a cold lonely night, hearing the sea throwing itself on rocks being teased by another distant rock reflecting wondrous milky shiny light, hearing strings vibrate to weave colors behind my closed eyes, making someone smile when I journey to the center of their lonely lovable hearts, seeking things way out of my reach only to find them right at my side, fighting for love and loving to fight, trying to hold on to the fleeting & delicious taste of a memory, the sad activity of failing to remember what I'd want to remember forever.
Nothing gives me more joy than stepping out of my own mold, changing, turning twisting to participate in this perpetual puzzle. Sharing myself, lending a hand, my heart, a square foot of space from my wet limitless mind. Drawing unknowingly from the dark depths of your luminous self's. Pinching, touching, poking randomly on your bubbly shields.
I like nothing more than creating, something ridiculous, something strange, something filled with errors and mistakes. Some futile attempts at making sense.
Tapping fingers on my desk assuming the wood is listening. Digging my feet into the sand hoping that at least once I'd be able to forget the difference between my feet and the sand.
I'd like nothing more than looking into your loud eyes. You'd think they don't speak and I would not think am hearing all the vivid conversations our deceptive cerebral organs are having secretly. Our dancing eyes, hands and feet, they play games conspired by our minds. Games we aren't smart enough to notice and figure. Games so quick we can't tell them apart from our thoughts. We'd think that we think yet I bet we're being tricked by wicked quick and slick kiddish beings made up of strange undefined energy.
Go figure.
How I miss that glance.
Waiting to meet someone the next day, just to check if she was feeling the same.
Wondering anxiously yet in a pleasant way if she were thinking of you too.
Besides creating things, the only pleasure I find is in experiences.
Experiencing connections, listening to stories, communicating sans words, walking under sunlight filtered through dancing leaves, the silence of a cold lonely night, hearing the sea throwing itself on rocks being teased by another distant rock reflecting wondrous milky shiny light, hearing strings vibrate to weave colors behind my closed eyes, making someone smile when I journey to the center of their lonely lovable hearts, seeking things way out of my reach only to find them right at my side, fighting for love and loving to fight, trying to hold on to the fleeting & delicious taste of a memory, the sad activity of failing to remember what I'd want to remember forever.
Nothing gives me more joy than stepping out of my own mold, changing, turning twisting to participate in this perpetual puzzle. Sharing myself, lending a hand, my heart, a square foot of space from my wet limitless mind. Drawing unknowingly from the dark depths of your luminous self's. Pinching, touching, poking randomly on your bubbly shields.
I like nothing more than creating, something ridiculous, something strange, something filled with errors and mistakes. Some futile attempts at making sense.
Tapping fingers on my desk assuming the wood is listening. Digging my feet into the sand hoping that at least once I'd be able to forget the difference between my feet and the sand.
I'd like nothing more than looking into your loud eyes. You'd think they don't speak and I would not think am hearing all the vivid conversations our deceptive cerebral organs are having secretly. Our dancing eyes, hands and feet, they play games conspired by our minds. Games we aren't smart enough to notice and figure. Games so quick we can't tell them apart from our thoughts. We'd think that we think yet I bet we're being tricked by wicked quick and slick kiddish beings made up of strange undefined energy.
Go figure.
I will too.
(This will soon become part of an audio-visual piece.)
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