August 19, 2010
Devouring crisp apples waiting for days of fallen leaves. Wishing for the thoughtful loneliness of antiquated Northeastern cemeteries. The bite of Autumn posts against the corner of a summer that never came. I find myself uninspired by old inspirations when the opportunity finally arises. Old scars of love and sun drenched weekends pulse as waves of fog roll on. Wishes for biting October sun or a new moon outrace thoughts on subjects more pertinent. This cycle of heavy kisses and lingering looks will undoubtedly end in ruin and loneliness, the kind of loneliness that I have once languished in, the kind that I have missed but fully intend to quickly return to. These dreams of Fall plague my thoughts and hinder all productive moves forward. Broken hearts and misunderstandings lie dirty and rusted alongside this long road, mine repeatedly among them. As a solemn queen trudges to her death I wait for Fall and fall back into old habits. Without the boundaries of a monochrome board of players I’m left to wander in wonder at this fleeting life, these iridescent pearls of experience strung together by robot-like movements. Smoke streams from the dying fire within my chest and I find myself staring into wisps of steam instead. Entangled like the partners of a pas de deux, smoke and steam, from my fires and boiling points dance past my vision only to reveal that wanton trail of candy red rusted hearts and lost crowns that once sat on stable heads. I dream for Fall so that I may hide behind high collared coats and feathered masks, so that I may waltz through this bright masquerade and find myself hidden in a crowd, hiding in plain sight and once again languishing in that crisp solitude of a harvest sunset.