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How do you want to spend the rest of your life? I ask.
And then I tell her (or I tell myself, rather),
To forever chase winter's tail and watch her transform into spring
to swallow tonic that makes me giddy and dance down dusty roads with my arms outstretched
to watch the sunrise every morning with a cup of tea and a pen that spills black over an unlined page
and to kill the inhibitions that keep me from indulging in the above.
to swallow tonic that makes me giddy and dance down dusty roads with my arms outstretched
to watch the sunrise every morning with a cup of tea and a pen that spills black over an unlined page
and to kill the inhibitions that keep me from indulging in the above.
∆
It seems I left pieces of myself all over the world - from the city to the sea to the sky - only to come home to my big white bed with little-to-nothing left. Jetlag is the sensation tingling behind my ears, like my hair is on fire and flames are licking the past, leaving a trail of ash behind me. Wake me up when September ends --- because until then everything is jibberish and there is a mysterious fog lingering over the streets and the ceiling sky.
If I stay in the present then it's an eternal grey, but if I gaze to the future then I can see the gold and the black-blue summer nights feeling infinity plus one. I gotta get rid of my wits because they've got the better of me and it's tricky to see what's real and what's not when you can talk yourself in and out of just about everything.
If I stay in the present then it's an eternal grey, but if I gaze to the future then I can see the gold and the black-blue summer nights feeling infinity plus one. I gotta get rid of my wits because they've got the better of me and it's tricky to see what's real and what's not when you can talk yourself in and out of just about everything.
"Nostalgia in reverse, the longing for yet another strange land, grew especially strong in spring." — Vladimir Nabokov.
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