Capricious

43 - Starlings in the Sky

"Expectation is the root of all heartache."
- William Shakespeare

Am I letting myself feel too brash? I hope not. Yet still I'm scared. Haunted by the way she throws it off, walls in certain circles. I just don't know for sure, if she really feels the same.

Life is quicker now, it runs non-stop, there is no time, I'm falling behind in every way. I can't find a way to keep up, or even to breathe, to enjoy the things I used to, lamenting times when I could just let go and surrender to the moment. I'm always running by the clock, my mind failing, chunks of life dying off to maintain what I must, forgoing what I can't see right now, failing regardless at every turn. I can't do this anymore. I never wanted this, why am I here, why do I stay, trapped by these walls, simply for a role in a society so blind? I don't believe in it, my mind attempts furiously to escape, but my body stays, my ego rooted, and slowly I feel like I'm fading away, from everything, and everyone.

I miss kissing your neck
I miss the impressions we make together
I miss stroking your creamy striped back

Cracks in the pavement, treacle seeping through, a ghost amidst the waves, black smoke humming with an orange glow. I've been taken away from myself, I'm seeming less and less, a world of regression defined by the crisp sharpness of the walls, the bare tables, the blank people I dare to reach out to, arms robotic wound up, reverse rewinding, flashing heat masking the lingering chill of the fade. Old posters stripped from my body, blander tasting than before, the ache in my skull a dull entrée persisting till the break. I love it! Just not here, only there, I've had too much, greedy yet sound, letting things fair as they may, reassuring what time may yet have to lose. It's not what I want. Simple as. Why should it always have to be a reflection? I've left through the back door, pausing by the window, daring for a stare that won't come; how can I translate a language I don't even know? Trying hard to not care, or trying too hard to care, mind the next day wondering why I did not follow through, when logic says I should. What is it to care may I ask? There can't be such a thing when so widely you're spread; may as well to be dead, that's how my muscles feel, suffocated, asphyxiating for my sins, disguised as sanity though you bet. It's all murmurs, ends and beginnings, and still I'm where I was, punished for replicating, what I didn't mind doesn't work to satisfy any but myself. It's all a remix now, struggling to be original, I can't be creative without inspiration, when everything looks the same, where there are no gains to be made on my horizon. Waiting. Losing. Freezing.

Her little uneven spray of freckles, the mark on her front tooth, that burst of pink upon her cheeks, little imperfections that make her so perfect and sweet. That delicate patter of fingers upon my chest, brushing cheekbones curvingly pronounced, eyes roaming each another, rubbing noses like Eskimos do. Running my finger down the contours of her face, her forehead and nose, her lips and chin, her neck and chest, across her navel, down to play with her. Oh baby.

Just a few more minutes, please, I'll forget you, for I am not human, lying to myself, I don't deserve to be held so high, I'm a fraud, just please don't sway too far away, please don't let me go. You are the only meaning I have left.

She plays with the doubts of my mind no matter how confident I get. High risk, high reward. It's just taking too long, it needs to be faster, the days slower, the way clearer. It's all the same now, and it's dissolving me. I can barely even day-dream any more. Nothing works, I'm wasting away, I no longer care, I have no clue what the fuck I'm doing.

I'm missing something, that constant delight, that I can turn to when I'm faded from life, that I don't have time for. Those from the past do not belong, do not fit, do not entertain here; else moving to the shadows, never forming desire enough to grab me when I'm lost. They hold my interest, but allow no avenues to work with, so how then am I supposed to learn? Things I have to give up then, and now can no longer do, even with the time, for others work not for me. I need that drive, but nothing means a thing, anxiety may have been defeated, but now I lay wasted, frustrated, waiting.

I just want to share our minds, our bodies, our souls. Live each other as much as ourselves, know each other better than ourselves, release every guard, let down every shield, and just be loved, for exactly who we are. To feel important to someone, to feel less alone, to become part of them, and to know things no one else may have ever known, to feel things I'd never have known, to lose myself in this suffering we call love, that never truly seemed real, always seeming too immature a thing to exist. But this is truly something else, this longing that I feel aching in every bone, for someone so brilliantly alike yet so beautifully different, to share old loves and discover new ones alike, to live on the edge with someone as intense as me, so when these moments do come, they are so simply, so complicatedly, so purely, ecstasy.

It's in the sounds she makes, her delectable moans, her feverish panting. It's in the faces she pulls, the force of her eyes, the flush of her complexion. It's in her desire for me, the way she forces against me, the way she screeches my name. That's how she turns me on so much.

My mind twisting like starlings in the sky, shifting towards one school of thought and then another, what future matters most, the near, the far, or that it matters not at all.

Just looking at her, the way she makes me feel, she feels like home.