Easy Does It

It's easier to not think. Don't think about cancer. Don't think about where we go when we die. Don't think about job security, the lines on your face, being so far away, the lack of check marks on your bucket list.....suppression is a talent. Self inflicted torture it is to allow the mind to contemplate. There's only so many times you can ask yourself: why, what if, how, when, where. There's only so many ways you can interpret if only. Some talents outweigh others. I've been told I'm quite thoughtful. Well, shit.

Sleep is in my top five. Trouble is I've never been very good at it. I blame this thoughtfulness good quality. Dreaming is remarkable. Day dreaming superior. It's been said that fear disables dreams. So, if fear is self made, only the fearful can mask their scarification. It's terrifying to imagine dreams dying simply because fear lingered. If you look fear in the eye, will it dissolve even if the dream doesn't come true. I'm not sure that's any less scarier.

How is it that you can be everything someone dreams off, but just another to someone else? They say I'm pretty. They say I'm smart. They say it's good to be independent. They say careers are important. Family shouldn't count when it comes to compliments. A compliment's weight lies with the inflicted. Lies are the same if the outcome doesn't change. Mystery is another sought talent. Change is inevitable, mysterious attributes are easier to acquire.

The waiting room to be asked is rather lonely. The search to be needed can't be masked with pay checks, friendships or endless happy thoughts. Hating the sound of goodbyes leaves dark circles only the genuine see. I've perfected change. The difference between wanting to be loved and wanting the one to love you is exhausting.

If only, life got easier with age. If only thoughtlessness were manageable by us all.

Perceptive Perfection

The one that got away. The one that hasn't come around yet. The one that came and didn't stand a chance. Problem. The one sometimes is all three. So there she is. She may be a super model or the girl next door. She may hide behind glasses or spend hours masking her self proclaimed blemishes. She makes your mind race. Now, this one may be it or she may be a fantasy unfolding every time your paths cross. Your body leeches to hers and that's just it.


Wonderful. No, seriously. There's always going to be that one that stimulates. Problem. This one isn't the one you take home to Mom. Once lived, the thrill fades. Add her to the list, she's just another girl.


So there she is. She makes your mind race. The things running through your mind from the minute you met mimic, evolving every time your paths cross. If you want to wrap her up, if you can hold a conversation, if you find yourself letting her in the routine...one day you feel so comfortable, she fits. She's a fantasy you don't want to come true. She becomes your best friend. Who ever she is, when the day comes when you simply can't imagine not seeing her face, she's already met your Mom. Don't think. Don't try to put her in a neat little box. Be. Well....so there he is.