finding it easy.

going back to yourself,
going back to a seven year old familiarity.
I am strangeness now.
to you.
perhaps.
perhaps.
you're still warm to me.
embrace like pillows during rainshowers
aniseed kisses everytime,
and the beauty
of old frayed sneakers

is making the terrible truth
of being in gray buildings
with windows that never open;
for any wind
to let you feel the reality
of things that we can not see,

more colder.

I saw your eyes.

There. There. Unblinking and staring.
Perhaps not me. Not me.
Then you saw. Then you knew.
Me. Me.
You tried to blink. Perhaps impossible.
So moved. Hid. Tried to blink again.
And struggled to still the tremblings.
I felt. You felt.

Find a way. Find me.
We will be lost. Together.

06:53:55.

I might have gone and almost forgot August, like there was for some reason that August was more than just a blur of emotions and remembrances; and it is only a stray thought, for I count every passing day since sometime last June. It is September now, and I am only waiting for the wind to turn a little more colder and for rains to be more common than things that make me remember you; but I guess, in comparison that would make the rains a rare occurence, even if it fell every day.

For just little while from now, time would come full circle and if there is some significance to that truth, I can only wonder and then breath, and fall to my routine of written sighs. Or I could say that I was just dreaming, though this would mean that I have just woken up, and now will want to fall back to the warmth of sleep again, to will myself to slumber in the hope of catching up with the fading dream. And in that futility, weave my own and make myself warm for some time; even if it gets colder everyday, but you see, there is no reason to stop because then if I can abandon my dream, then it would also be possible to give up on myself.

And also because some things are real however you may want to ignore it. And being real, it will always find a way.

these are the days.

These days when my mind can fool itself and myself in the process, when I forget what I should be feeling, or what I should be doing next as I step through the bathroom door, when I keep being reminded of things of the past year like reruns on tv that seem to have made itself a part of my routine, when focus is myth, and concentration is heartbroken because of that fact, when emotions are so scrambled that even pain becomes white noise too easily which I blame on the little chance for Solitude, or sometimes I think that every thing is just hitting me from all sides that it is almost impossible to see straight into tomorrow, and I am going blindly into the future again, like a kid again; these are the days, these are the days when I forget to live and forget to breath in or breathe out or even stare in wonder at some thing or any thing that I have not seen before, days when I seem to be losing myself in the background of my own thoughts, yes, these are the days I am not aware of my possibilities, and going blind in the illusions of impossibilities that I fool myself as potential realities, as something that with enough action and thought and feeling and wanting and longing will come out of the ether fully formed and wanting to be embraced. These are days of forgetting, of going through the sludge that my mind is creating out of nothing and out of every dream that I have; and these are also days of remembering.

These days when I am not me.

being in a calm pool of water and the sound of nothing when I submerge myself.

My mind is trying to forget itself for some time now, and just letting some automatic part of myself run itself. Most of the time I am content to just watch, and I turn to routines in a show of support for my mind. I wake, eat, go to work, go home, eat a bit then sleep again. Like trying to bury something bigger than the hole I dug for it. But there are days when my mind succeeds and it is a small comfort and it is finding it easier with each every success, and I try to make the hole bigger.

It's just that... it's only a matter of time and a matter of Solitude then my mind will remind itself again of itself.

And the rains and the coldness are not helping at all because when my mind returns we are hardly complacent with each other, most of the time I know it isn't an easy companion.

By then, I am alive again and realizing it has been the longest June ever.