Wednesday, February 27, 2008

This is how it is.

This is how it is.

In the bustle there are a thousand faces and all the faces
boil down to one or two. The one or two are cherished. It starts that one enjoys
the faces, the site, the familiar presence.

There is a point where one becomes accustomed.

The boys sing and snap and dance and the player with the
green guitar woos my spirit if not my flesh.

And the faces blend.

Here they come to stay for only a moment. I hold them for
only a moment. Warm flesh pressed against mine, a fleeting glimpse of what
might be if I had more time.

She was from Trinidad she told me.

She was going to Pakistan
she told me.

And the come back.

And they disappear.

And they are never to be heard from again.

This is how it is.

Here in the moving place, where everything is constant flux,
constant emotion, constant turmoil. There is only self imposed stagnation and
everything else is the height of moving on. Will it move on? And if it does?

This is how it is.

They come, and they go, and there is nothing here to hold
onto that is the same. Each day that passes presses it’s imprint upon me so
that each day that passes I am changed. I come and I go everyday. I am here and
then I am gone. I travel on a long road and some days I am completely lost in
the journey.

And some days I wonder if it is worth being found.

This is how it is.

I say good bye. New adventures await. I’d ask what for me,
but already the adventures lie piled high behind think glass that will not
become transparent until I get close to time. So leave. Let the adventure

It’s a matter of timing. Bad timing? No, it’s a matter of circumstance.
My warming body lies in bed in wait for me. There will be smiles when I press
upon the cushions. What is it that I am so afraid of there?

This is how it is. This is how it will always be.

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