something has been not right and it makes the ship lean to one side, motionless and completely unmotivated. feels a little like sadness, but that's not it. perhaps the man in charge spilled some coffee on the control panel and now the force field button is malfunctioning--i didn't press it, but here i am stuck in this damn bubble.
it's loneliness; all the events and action are empty of intimacy.
it smells more like grief than sadness.
i stumbled, tripped, fell deep inside and found myself upon a wave of almost maudlin nostalgia for events that never took place. i passed through the door of the gallery where i glared at the paintings of romanticized scenarios. i glanced over my shoulder at the others in the crowd. they all wore dirty faces and then i realized they were all me. i was wearing the same scowl as we criticized the paintings for their unrealistic color and ridiculous themes. the hopeful oils were too thick on the canvases--i put my eye close and could see that they were cracking, not from age, the media was rejecting the images.
i couldn't move away from the portrait of mourning the loss of a love never felt. it was the average of almosts, the ether seeping from what is decomposing in tiny packets of memory, sealed with names of ghosts for whom i feel little or nothing.
the words appeared on the mirror 'don't want you back but there is a part of me--wishes that you still wanted me.' sure, sometimes i miss sex, but more often and strongly than that, companionship, but more than that, the feeling of being wanted by the one i want. it's the most rare, unforgettable delicious, but i've only had it served upon a fleeting, fading plate. what i want is the main course, not just the appetizer sampler. it's a dangerous wish, and because of it i have dealt with plenty of annoying, gawking fawners, enamored with the shining exceptional moments of my mediocrity, but finally it makes sense. the mirror is the part i've failed to include and in the mirror is the answer to what is missing, the limb that causes this sporadic, recurring phantom pain: an admirable admirer with the chemicals that mix with mine to make the color of one. the missing piece.
it's a pleasant thought, the fantasy of finally meeting the one you've been missing.
it's loneliness; all the events and action are empty of intimacy.
it smells more like grief than sadness.
i stumbled, tripped, fell deep inside and found myself upon a wave of almost maudlin nostalgia for events that never took place. i passed through the door of the gallery where i glared at the paintings of romanticized scenarios. i glanced over my shoulder at the others in the crowd. they all wore dirty faces and then i realized they were all me. i was wearing the same scowl as we criticized the paintings for their unrealistic color and ridiculous themes. the hopeful oils were too thick on the canvases--i put my eye close and could see that they were cracking, not from age, the media was rejecting the images.
i couldn't move away from the portrait of mourning the loss of a love never felt. it was the average of almosts, the ether seeping from what is decomposing in tiny packets of memory, sealed with names of ghosts for whom i feel little or nothing.
the words appeared on the mirror 'don't want you back but there is a part of me--wishes that you still wanted me.' sure, sometimes i miss sex, but more often and strongly than that, companionship, but more than that, the feeling of being wanted by the one i want. it's the most rare, unforgettable delicious, but i've only had it served upon a fleeting, fading plate. what i want is the main course, not just the appetizer sampler. it's a dangerous wish, and because of it i have dealt with plenty of annoying, gawking fawners, enamored with the shining exceptional moments of my mediocrity, but finally it makes sense. the mirror is the part i've failed to include and in the mirror is the answer to what is missing, the limb that causes this sporadic, recurring phantom pain: an admirable admirer with the chemicals that mix with mine to make the color of one. the missing piece.
it's a pleasant thought, the fantasy of finally meeting the one you've been missing.
kmk:
fabulous blog. love your thoughts and words. kiss. kmk.