Every day has its own objective.
Some wake up only to complete these tasks, to come back home, rest, do it again.
Every day is a walk. May it be short or long. It's still a walk.
And for me today's the walk of life.
I walk past future stumps, and potholes. I walk past the green and grey. Avoiding cracks and lines that interfere with my path. These small distractions won't bother me. They keep me company. Without them, I would be a sun without clouds.
I walk and I accompany myself with a song, and the words only I can hear inside of my head. It was nice when it was like this. And then...
*__ has entered the chatroom*
Have you ever been in love with the idea of something? The idea, meaning, thought, and what the imagination controls... *tap* send the message across to me. But what exactly is love? I hear that it's a feeling. It comes from inside of you. However, I don't think love comes from a specific place. In fact... I think love is merely a word.
*_ is typing...*
I look up at the sun with closed eyes, so that they will be filled with the countless opalescent pastels of pink you have grown to enjoy. leaves paint my shoeless feet as I blindly *tap* smile at you with these arms wide open. As lids open...
...Love is...
When in a moment... day and night collide. Without differentiation, my narcolepsy has become an insomnia of glowing fireflies on dew-covered white rains. My imagination is never-ending, and I can feel my fingerprints start to wrinkle as my identity disfigures itself, while age and society creep forward at its unwanted pace.
*tap* silently speak to me... so I can hear and feel only the wind, as my mouth dries from the thought of deep blue.
As my sun and your moon coexist, a million different expressions sit still between the swinging stars. It's so much more than I would've imagined before. Petals fall along with the leaves as they always do. It was only petals ago when I met you. Like a rose in a pile of daisies, you appeared. Your petals seemed so much bigger than mine.
I walked to the tune of my back pocket. Sometimes I miss the beat, but I try my hardest to catch up. When I feel the *buzz*, my stem straitens before leaning back again. I forgot how much beauty could be stored in the silence. *tap* But this love I can see.
When still pictures and stupid jokes were enough. When open ears and different perspectives helped you to see. I was the child learning how to make lemonade.
People say; "When life gives you lemons..." But I didn't realize lemons were bad because I always ate them. "When life gives you lemons, make lemonade." So when I realized the lemons were bad, you helped me make a glass, and I've never tasted anything better.
Looking up at the trees, I see the flashlights peek from their hiding places, through the leaves at me whispering, " where are you headed to?" And I look down to see a backward pattern to where I just came from... Instead of questioning, I accept that today's walk has been shorter than expected. But this was just the beginning. My legs, leading me back back back to-
"my flowerbed."
YOU ARE READING
pieces of me
Poetry"I have written you down, you will live forever." ~ A poet from Bastille . . . . . . . . Excerpts of a busy bee 🐝 [i write purposely without capitalization, and am not worried much about having ideal structure. i am a happy potato, please...
