wordrummager:

We most often work backwards in our reasoning, making the past bend in memory to fit where we are today. A fuzzy horizon gets fuzzier when it gets hotter and unless we slow down, all we can hope to see is a wisp of an image of ourselves reflected in the eyes of someone we adore.

Turning a hue only found after a blurry ride on a Ferris Wheel that had gone too fast- that’s what he sees I think; at least, that’s how he reacts when I take a breath from talking. Why not him? is what I’ve heard over and over as if there are interchangeable parts, of which I believe there are places on the body that sweetly belie the dark within, so why not fill up before too much is lost?

Ah, but when extrapolating matters of emotional taint in vapor (what are the parts per billion of angst in swallowed pride?), it is conceivable to stretch time to fit what the heart thinks it needs. Or maybe that’s leftover thinking from my days of admiring the rosary in all its macabre mystery.

Wishing is too bittersweet so I mostly spend those moments of my days (when no one is looking) with empty movements and a head full of daydreams. So many scenes rifled through to make me crest again and again as if I were being touched. And the breathless moments after are as serene as a melted candle, used and messy.

I’ve said Yes so often and I will continue to say Yes because my heart does not bear the winter of No as well. I am to thrive again, I think, and even if there is none to take in all the details, I can see it is better to keep this particular star as my own secret anyway.