So once, I was standing at the departure gate at SFO, a dozen roses fallen on the floor, watching a 747 heading to London.
I had lanesplit for 90 miles, at 90 miles an hour, to be there.
Knight to queen four.
We had stood on the beach, in Monterrey, and she had told me she loved me, that it had taken her forever to realize it, and she said that she was scared.
I said "Forever starts now." and rode up the pacific coast highway through the fog, beneath a full moon, with a head full of twisted, beautiful plans.
Then I was standing at the departure gate at SFO, a dozen roses fallen on the floor, watching a 747 heading to London.
What do you do? The greatest moment of your young life has been placed in check by an overzealous six-dollar-an-hour airport rent-a-cop
Check. but Knight takes Rook.
You turn around, walk to the head of the line and say "a one way ticket to London, please."
Checkmate in two moves.
So I was standing in the snow at King's Cross, a bottle of wine in hand and the hurt slowly fading from my heart.
Fourteen days, and eight thousand miles, and a single evening at the Slimelight later, and I had met her new boyfriend.
Queen takes Knight; Checkmate.
So I listened to the Pet Shop Boys and walked towards home, drinking my wine and smiling at the delicate irony of other people's complete lack of style.
Until a little DJ (who looked like Death) popped her head out of a third-story garret and said "Hullo! Would you care to come up for a cup of tea?"
Game begins again, first move to White.
And the question I'm left with is: Why is it that fear takes so much precedence to adventure? What happened in other people's lives that made control such a fierce and bloody need? So much so that they would run from what they say that they want, only to find themselves where they never wanted to ever be again?
Where, really, is the charm in self-immolation? Compare a candleflame to the moon, and ask yourself, why burn for something so petty? Something so small?
What have you done that makes it so hard to fly, that makes living within your self-imposed limitations so compelling?
Fight genetics, kill your inner lemming. Violate boundaries, live like you're going to someday die. Chase the source you can't control.
Make your life a story unexpected.
I had lanesplit for 90 miles, at 90 miles an hour, to be there.
Knight to queen four.
We had stood on the beach, in Monterrey, and she had told me she loved me, that it had taken her forever to realize it, and she said that she was scared.
I said "Forever starts now." and rode up the pacific coast highway through the fog, beneath a full moon, with a head full of twisted, beautiful plans.
Then I was standing at the departure gate at SFO, a dozen roses fallen on the floor, watching a 747 heading to London.
What do you do? The greatest moment of your young life has been placed in check by an overzealous six-dollar-an-hour airport rent-a-cop
Check. but Knight takes Rook.
You turn around, walk to the head of the line and say "a one way ticket to London, please."
Checkmate in two moves.
So I was standing in the snow at King's Cross, a bottle of wine in hand and the hurt slowly fading from my heart.
Fourteen days, and eight thousand miles, and a single evening at the Slimelight later, and I had met her new boyfriend.
Queen takes Knight; Checkmate.
So I listened to the Pet Shop Boys and walked towards home, drinking my wine and smiling at the delicate irony of other people's complete lack of style.
Until a little DJ (who looked like Death) popped her head out of a third-story garret and said "Hullo! Would you care to come up for a cup of tea?"
Game begins again, first move to White.
And the question I'm left with is: Why is it that fear takes so much precedence to adventure? What happened in other people's lives that made control such a fierce and bloody need? So much so that they would run from what they say that they want, only to find themselves where they never wanted to ever be again?
Where, really, is the charm in self-immolation? Compare a candleflame to the moon, and ask yourself, why burn for something so petty? Something so small?
What have you done that makes it so hard to fly, that makes living within your self-imposed limitations so compelling?
Fight genetics, kill your inner lemming. Violate boundaries, live like you're going to someday die. Chase the source you can't control.
Make your life a story unexpected.
frankmask:
Ok.
kalischild:
Pork Chocolate.