It is like a slow life in China around the turn of a couple of
centuries ago. The sound of the wind and
soft rain on my cheek. Whispers of the
insects in the night air and a light fog lay close to the ground over in a different
world which runs and runs. It has no direction of final bearing. It wants and knows
nothing, tries and fails at most and is suffocated with the air so close. I
wish I could TV love. You know the foolish stupid crazy kind of love when you
were 16. Not the TV love of today or yesterday, but long ago in my Vintage
mind, maybe in the silent movies where a look or a slight motion says it all. I
have it in me and I have the vision of it being so close, but it in covered in
a membrane so so thin which can only be broken by love from the other side.
Knowing that I have this in me make me whole as I know
myself. It is strength and comforting. Knowing that it may never break through
from the other side makes me sad for someone else who I can’t reach.
Life is so short, but when you are whole and see almost all
(never all as only someone else can broaden this and show you the rest) your
footsteps are light and everything is soft and lovely.
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