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| Smooth Sailing |
I’m a day time dreamer. The world around me is very dull. It’s worth to mention that colors are brighter, shinier in my early years of life. It’s like I started my life with colorful movie, and I run out of colors as I grow older. Everything my vision may reach is different. Ants are flying, flowers are dancing, and moon is sparking. That gloomy sphere up in there, for you, is an orientation of sky means, for me. I intended to mention somebody I admire and love in this little passage, but I’m too selfish to talk about anyone but myself. So I just said: “admire and love”, why not the other way around?
Am I in love with myself? Ok this has many meanings, but please don’t go the other wrong way. I couldn’t survive the minutes away from you. I’m in love with you, and apparently I’m trying to hide it. How can I while you manifest, in glory, from everything my eyes may visualize and appreciate? Knowledge of mine could explain how ladies can dance ballet, every vessel, tendon, muscle, and nerve, all I can address. I can track the commands from the higher center down to the heel and toes. Yet, I’m completely ignorant in front of your architecture, design, and angles. I’m lost when I try to elaborate the beauty behind your eyes.
It’s boring to publish a love letter. Obviously, more I write, more gut I have to prolong what I write about. As paragraphs grow longer, the ideas console between my fingers. This time, I dare to say I’m not talking about goddess, they only exists away from my mortal reach. You’re mortal, just like me, and the days are, as well. I’m not sure do we kill time, or time slays our flesh and breaths? Still, time has no command over my dreams. I can shift day light to dusky horizon. I can reverse time, and when I do, you grow more beautiful. In my dreams, I’m immortal, and when I close my eyes, I live forever.
The heaviness in my chest burdens my words. You can understand that, every time after the shower I set silent, staring in your eyes, and my breaths almost vanish in your breast curves. The air gets inside a puzzle, how it can survive such magnificent incubator. Then, it condenses into little dew of my own. They move erotically along your breast. It’s stupid I don’t know other words for breast, because yours is a different than how the word expresses the insight. I have children of little water evaporations. They formed under the fog of that eve, when god decided to concede his/her/its humanely characters.
I’m sailing in a sea of my daughter and sons. Those little drops which crash under my ship are my made. I’m surfing over a thin thread. If it’s broken, whole my life would collapse. It’s like the moment which separates dawn from last darkness rays. Like when you say: “good bye” and I stand next to the door. I can’t step behind, then I lost you sight. I can’t follow you, so shame will be our third fellow. Please, you can understand the pain I pass through, to see you, during our meeting, and we our fingers get detach. It’s like a journey in a wild sea. Oh, if I took care of my little drops, they would be behaved. It’s all about shoreless sea and homeless man. So, I knocked the door of my dreams, and ask them: “can I stay inside?”
In the end of the day, don’t ask me: “how do you dream?” I can't live outside dreams.
Thank for AutumnGoddess to give this great picture..
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