more than that.

these are sad times
even sighs are held back
thinking that it may color
the air,
and advertise to the immediate world
that for some reason.
You are sad.

being wired.

Would being up there be a better feeling. And the hundred questions that I would never answer, or would take that a step further.

Its been so long.

I cant even say I miss this, or that I need this. I just have this feeling that I should, not that sort of feeling that obligation gives you. Or responsibility.

Just that feeling that I should, that this is life.

Like that.
I guess I'll only be getting a few things that I want with my life. There never was an assurance that I would anyway, just the dream that this is what should be.

I can only hope that I could say I am complete if I happen to die in the next minute.

What I am is beyond my dreams of 8 years ago.

What I am pales in some parts of what I dreamed of 8 years ago.

The thing is, only the dreams remain. Yes, I would not want to wake up from them.
They are good sources of sustenance.

hear here.

through acoustics again.

Direct access memory, where scents holds reign supreme. Fading lingering traces of desire, and the realization, yes, through acoustics.

And seems like another life, far removed from the current one.

Viewing it up here, and the world gives a little spin, making sure the whatifs and whatmighthavebeens would not have a semblance of life. Or even just the idea of it.

I would just listen and unzip memories, and yes, this is a good life.

Much appreciated and much enjoyed.

what the word means.

Not the dictionary, or whatever the WWW points out.
Perhaps delirious, but I am not getting all the right vibes. Or even the vibes that I am expecting.

Just hunger, plain old hunger.

And when someone's personal bubble is nickel plated, it would be very hard to pierce.

And I can feel my heartbeat when I am lying face down on the floor.

It doesn't only tell me I am alive, I am also vulnerable.

some kind of underwater love.

Without the fishes, only the envelope of almost all the senses.

you up for this?

The air just keeps getting colder, enough to be felt in my dreams. A real presence during early mornings, even if your body is hot enough to melt butter.

Getting cold.

Know a better way to be warm?

the other one will understand.

Even the loopholes of your mind, or perhaps feign it perfectly there will be no difference.

For some reason, you fear that this just might be the case, that the former is just an ideal of the mind. Unlike orgasms.

And this fear puts you on the edge, and to the point that at times you will seriously contemplate jumping (although you will wait for the push).

Then the wind comes and the sun sets. The cold has teeth, all incisors.

Holding hands is a much better recourse than this, you think. So you go back