I'm eating my cereal for dinner, again, if it really makes a difference? If I open the package from the wrong end does the box fall apart? If I tell you I'm not sure what all this is about anymore will you know it's more than an existential blues? 

 I've had times where my truths didn't conflict but you told me that was just my soap box: Shiny and silver but ready to Pop. 

I flit, float, fear and if I could only forget so much I never really knew I'd be okay. Don't worry, I stopped making sense a long time ago. I've crossed too many Ts and dotted too many Is and now I'm it. If I tag you will you run away? Luckily for you this isn't catching it's just a way of being. 


If only life came with second chance exits; Maybe, just maybe when I giggle at the joke in my head you wouldn't give up or warn me not to be so loud or forgetful of the time you take for me. You can warn me not to shout but I still will:

"I told you so!" 

 

I leapt into the life that might be, reclaimed liberty, just to be. I've nobody specific in mind, no great ambition. Just a desire that there must be more. Sometimes that's called faith or blindness, but I'm just waiting for my second chance exit. If I wait long enough it's bound to come around again. After all how many roads taken ever end? 

 
People ask, 
 What's her story? Old history but she's so young. 

I'm watching her, watching me, recursive eyes in a hall of mirrors. I'll sit on the fence till I notice what's really there.  It's like i'm watching a movie only i'm in it. I can move things, but it never makes any difference. I jump off the fence. I know what's going to happen next so I start to run, it's all i can do. My legs pounding the pavement, the blood running through me. I can hear the pounding, it's all starting to spin. I can't breathe.

Pause, Rewind. Bring me up hard as the cement comes into focus. I stagger and get up, again. My eyelids flutter, trying to adjust to the light. 

Someone told me once it's all just old souls trying to connect, regurgitating garbage and putting our bets on the same horse every single time. There's something more than instinct that guides us to the people and places we can make a difference to. If you trace things back far enough everybody has their own arms and legs of long dead memory buried in the basement.

There's a ghostly sun outside tonight and I stare. If I stare long enough I can see the embers of past light burning up. Maybe I can see what I missed the first time around.

Wishful thinking's a bit of a problem. Sometimes I get so far ahead of where I am I can't get back to who I was. I see other people walking and I envy the pattern of their steps. There's music there if you take the time to listen.

 If you're quiet enough you might just hear what I mean. Chances are you can't be bothered but it's really not that hard. 

Why don’t I just open the window now, you let me know if it helps?