____we will not be the last
____we will not be the last
____we will not be the last
____we will not be the last
____we will not be the last
____we will not be the last
________bloc party
untitled, selma
dear unwritten letters,
i have not written you. As long as i don't- you exist in allpossibility. As long as i don't, i still have time to make it up to: you, you, you, and mostly me (you). As long as i don't, i am not the me that is here now. i am a million different me's, in a million different places, all simultaneously wonder(terri)ful(ble).
Also, i am tired. i cannot really explain this using traditional language. Here is my explanation anyway:
i know it is rude of me to let you sit there without response for soo long. i am sorry. There are no emergencies. No cataclysms (that i can see anyway). There is only time. Only bodies of men walking around. sitting. huddling in corners. i cannot see the art in that just now.
everytime i come to write you, i think perhaps to sleep instead... i am reminded that i have been promised (and have promised myself) miracles of a miraculous kind. every december is soo far from its january. Perhaps another sleep with reveal it. yes. yes, it is there. we just have not found the right Monday for it yet. There is a more-right 10:31am for it. It has not liked the hours it has tried on yet. My to-be-hoped-for-but-dangerous-to-expect miracle is lurking behind the corner of a few prickly days.
in any case, i care about you... but cannot put finger to soul tonight. my words will not flow.
that is all.
sorry.
Also, i am tired. i cannot really explain this using traditional language. Here is my explanation anyway:
(1) shadows mean nothing if you're sleep. ____with my eyes open i wonder about ladybugs. i remember them being soo normal in Africa. QUESTIONS ONE SHOULD NOT ASK: (2) who was i then? (3) am i more excuse than man? (4) december 12th, 2006 (5) i must have been... 10, 9?, something like that. there was never enough time, i could hear the numbers being recited: 20... 21... 22... 23... where? where? closet? (taken), under the bed? (taken) 24... 25... 26... hallway? (no silly!, that's obvious) 27... (why not just get out of his line of sight at least!) 28... 29... these curtains are a beautiful blue (taken? no...) ready or not... I first learned how to hide, and how bad i am at it. ____maybe i am too touchy-feely. that's probably the cause of everything. (6) must every night be a well i'm lowered into?____i once rode a camel... who was that man? i will need a lifetime to recover from this one. ____"you have an old soul"...
i know it is rude of me to let you sit there without response for soo long. i am sorry. There are no emergencies. No cataclysms (that i can see anyway). There is only time. Only bodies of men walking around. sitting. huddling in corners. i cannot see the art in that just now.
everytime i come to write you, i think perhaps to sleep instead... i am reminded that i have been promised (and have promised myself) miracles of a miraculous kind. every december is soo far from its january. Perhaps another sleep with reveal it. yes. yes, it is there. we just have not found the right Monday for it yet. There is a more-right 10:31am for it. It has not liked the hours it has tried on yet. My to-be-hoped-for-but-dangerous-to-expect miracle is lurking behind the corner of a few prickly days.
in any case, i care about you... but cannot put finger to soul tonight. my words will not flow.
that is all.
sorry.
5 comments:
a letter to unwritten letters.
yes. exactly.
don't be sorry.
Africa?
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