do i live in a poem? and if i do, what is a poem without tradegy and without splendor? my head is in the clouds, how do i get my feet on solid ground? perhaps my boots aren't made for walking.
i think you are the paper and i am the line.
i have the window in my living room open and can feel the air coming in. it's neither warm or cold. it's refreshing. i've sat there most of the evening, and before i knew it i'd read 74 pages of my new book. funny because when i started it earlier today i doubted whether it would engage me. i'm glad, i've needed an alternative reality to lose myself in. otherwise, if left to my own devices i'd just cook up trouble.
sometimes i touch up my make-up even though i'm just spending the evening at home alone. i'm delighted to find myself doing these things just for me. and why not? i've no one to impress except for me, and besides, that's much more easily done :)
haunted by a past i just can't see anymore.
2 comments:
i love reading for just that reason - i love entering an alternate reality for a few hours. sometimes i get so lost in a book that i have a bit of "culture shock" or "jet lag" when i try to re-enter my regular life.
sort of like when you have a really real dream and you get confused when you wake up because you aren't sure if it happened or not.
i find dreams the most trippy when you wait up feeling like you'd just hung-out with someone, but then you realize you haven't seen them in months. i kind of like that.
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