Written some 2 months ago or so -
"I seem to be: more interested in the imaginary now. Love that was, the love existent in [only] our dreams, before we ourselves existed. I am more interested in a love that [doesn't] fail, in a love that whispers, "I'll do anything for you." I have tasted crumbs of those blessings, only individual drops of rain. I lay at a crossroad: To remain alone with the broken loved, in reality, wishing and hoping it fulfills beyond my lacking understanding, or, I can close my eyes forever and hope eternity catches my flailing body, and for eternity, I hope it will love me, without asking why I came.
The weaving looms of life include:
being loved; being forgotten;
knowing much; knowing nothing;
breathing deep; barely breathing;
climbing high; laying low;
attempting to record the
golden spindles of life
into a book the depth
of what you can remember,
from the time you are
born, to the day you
They are calling form the solid planes,
the open gates know no seal
simply be alive, simply live and be."
more sketches on their way...