it's nearly morning and i am not looking forward to anything.

just breathing, watching the window turn a shade lighter... and a shade lighter. these moments of clarity won't last and they come with a price but i take it as they come grateful enough for another perspective; even if it all comes back the same, the view from another angle gives it a fresh new layer of hope and misery in varying degrees.

then these moments pass and I am left with an added wonder to my mysteries, then go on continue on longing for something beyond songs and poetry. beyond touch and breath. hope is one of the very few things left me, and it is a terrible companion; not cold at all, though heartless among other things.

i look forward to missing you again. yes, hoping. like always.

upon going back.

The bus trudged along and I sat watching the on-board movie, and saw the silhouette of someone embracing someone in the squeeze of how it was to be saved and how it was to be found again, and I looked out the bus window a heartbeat later, burnt and almost like I was watching something that didn't feel right. something that was more closer to home than I wanted to. something more closer. perhaps something that I wanted revisited. That like a real burn it lingered and I had to look out of the window and the sun was there like a misplaced memory; strange and familiar at the same time. And warm. so warm.

But I had to return to the movie and so closed the dirty window curtains that stank of the countless trips from this place to that place and saw my reflection for a brief instant, like a glimpse of a face I haven't really seen for a long time then I was back in the cold and hurried darkness... then wondered if my mind was still there, or like that memory had also misplaced it somewhere and I was only watching on autopilot.

These trips are always too fucking long, and if the on-board movie doesn't get me, then the passing scenes outside the bus window will. there is no escape.

by god, I miss your embrace.