I keep on dreaming of places where the sea stretches so far ahead of me I lose my footing. Places where time seems to have stopped, the world grown up around it, ivy vined and sun leached. It’s here where I love you, and here where I leave you. We count the days we have together, knowing as we did back then, they are always numbered. We are always finding a way to distract ourselves from the big universal truths. Time ebbs and faces grow old.
I feel myself constantly pirouetting in my own memories, that now is an isolated event, a snow globe filled with sand. There is sand in everything, a grit between my teeth while I sleep, a film across the pillow case. Everything is so promising when you dust off the sheets and we sleep straight through until morning.
Everyone is curious of what is going to be made next, but all I want is to slow the passage and stay this age forever. There is a lot left for us to squeeze from each other.
Lately, people from my past keep on telling me how nothing is turning out the way they wanted it to. You’re living in your parents basement again and I doubt it will be the last time. I wish I could spoon feed everyone the knowingness that it all turns around, picks up, and becomes something else. But, I am not too shy to know that sooner or later it will be me again out to pasture and wondering where things went wrong. I’m worried about being happy, but then I’m happy about being worried. It means there is still a compass, still a way north, and still a good reason to pray south.