brokenalice

He slams the pot against the sink, like the strenuous sounds will permeate my thinking, transforming innocence into guilt. Why is there fault if you don't know your crime? I sit erect, facing the screen hoping no conversation will erupt from the sharp cuts of the knife plunging into pungeant garlic. The symphony of him preparing our dinner is what will leave the most painful nostalgia. 'tis nothing but bittersweet. With change comes new memories, glossing over the past like a faint dream. Why do changes come in waves? The way they collect in swells and engulf you at once with breakers so strong your head exists where your feet once were. The good thing about strength is you don't have to feel strong at the time. You just know that when the water disperses, you're left with some sand in your ass but with all limbs intact. You still hear the ocean.. it's constant rhythm is soothing when one step into the street -- exists chaos. I don't think he knows what he does with those quiet sighs... when I'm gone they will be replaced with smiles and realizations of a life put-off from procrastation. No more excuses now...