It was supposed to be a short story but instead it became you

It felt like a Sunday evening. There was the usual yelling and bestial roars coming from all angles. Sadly it was noon on a Wednesday, midsummer, beginning of summer, something of that heat wave sort. High noon bright in the sky and the floors were shaking in anticipation. One hell of an algorithm or parabola, some kind of messy mess that only few can distinguish as simple sun stroke.

Secrets and secrecy and yet the same mistakes are repeated through and through out. I see you and feel estranged, like I was placed against a wall, hanging from a hook, to be questioned. It’s not you, it’s definitely not, and you... you are tremendous in all ways. The thought of it though, the sight, I just am immediately urged to hold and touch and caress your soft stomach, and newly formed, or forming biceps. I think so well, but I get so lost because of this emotional hypocritical ideological blasphemous you.

You had me where I wanted to be. I feel great usually because, simply enough, I am great usually. But gosh have I ever lost my mind. Since I saw you’re face lit with laughter, I’ve just pictured it so many more times, not because I miss you, but the thought of you being happy ravages through my veins and all I can think of is that small joy I wish you had so long ago. The yelling was a reminder of how great my life is. I watched this madness unfold and kept thinking of how the worst we ever did was discuss gently what may or may not be wrong. Who were we fooling though? I said you were right, and you were. It hurt really terribly though. But you were always so right, and so pretty.

I never felt betrayed by you in any way. You were always so honest. Completely brave and yet the utmost careless fool I have met in all my time. There were no games, except hiding pain, back and forth, just pretending it was always ok.

I think you will never be off my mind.

I could fall and break

Next door is a market with all the berries and greens a girl could need. And across the street lay an ocean of adventures, like iced desserts and fried dinners, a park, a bench or two. So we take chances, go out on limbs, usually two limbs.
It's not a walk in the park, but we keep trying to bowlegged walk through that same damn park. I'm tired of everything, hate everything and it's because of people like you. High heads and hollow hearts, it's so repetitious.
My mistake, I thought it was something different.

I have no idea what more I am waiting for. Honestly I don't think anyone really is to blame but you are such a perfect target. I wish you the worst and best and all in between. I wish you feel everything there is to feel in the process of living.

The thrill

There is a major thrill to be attributed to the creation process.
It shakes and moves and makes you sweat and cry.
Forward motion, motion, porgress, change.
It's so amazing to just try, even when I fail everytime.
I get shivers thinking of possibilities, and beauties.
And creating...
This process of amazing thrills and bounds unseen,
And catastrophe lurking.
And never ever doubting a fucking single step.

It`s like being high without paying the toll.