stop counterculturalism now

I’ve been walking around and writing novels in my head. Writing sentences that flow into strings of words that are meaningful. I’ve been sitting, dreading life and the things in it that I cannot control.

I love it when you are nervous. I wonder if I would be this fascinated if you were not so beautiful. I try to find ugliness in you but it slips into the cracks between your fingers. I want to be there. You and me and beauty. :: :: I realize that what’s needed here is a constant forceful effort to listen to you and play in your garden.

When you wear coats that remind me of French generals and funny hats I smile inwardly. Sometimes I smile outwardly and you notice this. But you have no idea about the drum beats rapping against me or the bass guitar that spreads fat vibrations across my skin when I try to slip into the illusions I harbor about you. I want to use these feelings and thoughts and create something beautiful to give to the people who matter in my life.

I want to make love to you with words. I want friendship and the dewy lust that sticks to our bodies after we reveal our hearts. Or is that feeling just the beads of sweat our bodies produce? We are salt. If you reached out your hand and stretched really hard I think reality could fall away. For a few brief moments I would hold on to you while you lost all muscle tone and became water in my arms. And then when lightning failed to strike I would let you go. You would turn and walk away, in your general’s coat, toward your destiny.

I would like to imagine you would turn back for one last look in my direction but that is a false hope. I think I love you, in my way, but I think you are not meant to perceive the colors and shapes of the words that encircle my heart. So I think I want to say goodbye, for now, because something this beautiful should be treasured and not left to fade.

The spotlight from the helicopter circling my apartment makes me want to tell you some of the things I will never tell anyone. But the sound of the blades crushing the molecules in the air has now faded and it may be time for me to set down my pen and stop emptying my mind through my heart. It may be time to rest.

If I see you tomorrow I’ll need all my energy to continue to let my heart soar while I bite my lip and crush my cheek between my teeth.

Do you want to resolve this?

“Maybe the only things that make you different are your hands, the way you touch things, and what happens to them.” Zoe Trope