Wait. Wait for the time when you are allowed to
speak and show a distinct emotion or feelings. Wait, for the time that will
become your own and somehow the words will fall out of your own mouth as
astounding recreation of solitude. What am I searching for? Or whom, how will I
know? The search engine blinks for the question I cannot seem to ask. Will I
end up just like the others have, misguided in a wave of love… I do not know
how the approach is too happen or if true love exists, but I taste it on my breath
as if I had eaten it for breakfast. I can follow the rhymes and times of the
rhythm which made friends once become lovers, but I do not understand how or
when the idea came about.
Was it the touch that made them cave, or the notes upon
the page? Either way, they had fallen down beneath the clouds, to become a part
of the falling sky feeling in us all. One too many times our lives have come
about into one another’s, and I cannot seem to let go of it, the idea of us. The
feeling between our fingertips and the way we moved in the darkness, like we
owned the light switch of happiness. Words, were carelessly placed among others
ready for a dive in that was not theirs to swim about through, To Whom It May
Concern we will all die very soon.
Characters in a play do not realize who they are.
Have they lost all sense of stability walking through their walls, I wonder as
I watch, performing in such a way, do they see the light around them I have
held so brutally to my own. Among others things I grant a farewell, to those
who not have lost, but those who have yet won.
Don’t push too many things or you may fall over
yourself. The tide of change comes near, and you all run away in a chaotic
fear. I cannot see, but maybe I don’t want too. As a blind fool once said, “I
can be anything I want to be, no matter who says.”
Remarkable timing, remarkable lines upon lines of
diseased places, places you have never been but write so carelessly about as if
you brought up to be so cruel in their warm society of people.
S.M. Bjarnson
