5 to 10 to 16

some things. written around last week, but posting now because I like it better now. I was sort of on the fence about putting it in my journal thing or posting it.

You walk in the door-

and it's fine with me;

it doesn't bother me.

 

But some part of me

is different now

and I know you can feel it between us.

 

Which one of us was the match, and which one of us was the book?

 

Back and forth, scratching records, hat backwards, knees slightly bent, leaning forward into a fighting stance-

I have my gun up but I'm not aiming high enough.

I'm going to hit too South, when I need to be North more.

 

Can you really, truly know a person?

Can you truly know someone?

Can you know someone well enough...

 

Printing press, sculptured mess,

letters in a black ink sequence

with sequential verbose statements

where up is down and left is right

in a backwards upward way of speaking

articulating

like artichokes grown in a steady wood

steadily growing unexpected

expected to be responsible, respectable, relatable in more than a week or two.

 

this takes so much time that I don't want to waste on you. but then again I said that wrong. I wish I wonder if I could take forever, but forever’s way too long.

I never wish. I never wish because I hate it. Because wishing gets you nowhere. That's what I think, at least.

Though I suppose someone could pertain wishing to praying.

But that's not the same thing, because wishing is for an outcome, and praying is for everything else besides that.

 

In a way, I remember praying one night for someone

and I get you now (starting to map the way you think out a little better now, but I know that it's a dungeon/cavern sort of mess)

and I'm so thankful for it all, though the process was

complex

Author's Note

http://zardo.deviantart.com/art/On-the-other-side-184646297?q=boost%3Apopular%205%20to%2010%20to%2016&qo=11
picture is by zardo on deviant art