I am listening to hear where you are. Is it that i am preoccupied for the search of your truth?
Most of me has forgotten the search. I felt it drive me into action, now the drive is meeting resistance. Too much friction, too much attempt.
As it lays in front of me i remain focused on the cloud. Golden silver sleeves left beneath christmas trees.
Distraction from the truth, not yet false, but always bruised.
Not yet broken,but never true.
Where blood may swell at the surface, never under the heartbeat. The love of the present (presence) finds holes in the skin (usually pretend, until then)
Music and medicine you needed for comfort. All a good myth from the inside of inner, the coldest of winter.
Will she remember me? Will i recall who she was? Absolute harmony repelled by the diverse numerous. Puzzle pieces with a consciousness similar to mine. and i am just a puzzle piece in their return.
I know that i cant see how much i minimize my love. And oh, how great a loss of sight it is. Personalized summary of self doubt and disregard. Proven by the slow turn of the fifty six ton time wheel (declared).
Floating in glass, blacker than black.
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