| The Darkness at Noon.
Our luck swells in tides and streams.
I dreamt we had a very colorful conversation,
laughing in agreement.
I am sorry to hear about your rehearsal. Best
to not expect and just go with it. You know better - you've been doing
this for quite some time now. My writing code is your dancing. Our art
for what it is cannot be forced, otherwise the growth is stunted. And beautiful
things grow. Accidentally I've found my happiness. And I didn't have to
have anybody with me when it happened. I've lessened my karmic debt by
not
asking too much of myself, for I have very little
- and in turn, not asking anything of anybody. I am almost quite nearly
content with myself.
On the way home last night, after coffee with
a friend I gleaned the simple truth of existence. And I am better now with
the realization of it.
Love is selfish.
In the time that we've come to know a little
of each other I've been opening more and more of myself, enjoying the attention,
finding solace
in the sound of my own voice. With me, for me,
by me. Without stopping for a second to see if you were still even curious.
And it reeks of
artifice. In seeking to know you all I've tapped
is my own material. I could count on the fingers of one hand the times
that I actually asked
how you were doing. At the same moment I paint
flowery language, distracting you with trivia, drawing closer - only to
plant a wall in between us. Short enough so I could rest whenever my antics
become tiresome. Tall enough to keep you at a distance. And even in my
apology it is all about me. When the original intent was to find someone
to know, someone to share with. We don't know each other at all. But in
rare moments when my armor grows heavy and I am bare. I wish we were together.
You talk of sleep and how much you find pleasure
in it. We share the same feeling. But I deny myself this pleasure because
if I let myself feel too good about something, Heaven will show to me that
this very happiness will be fleeting. My palms are cut deep with the incised
groove of Fate. Inang foretold of a long life, rife with mischief and adventure,
but well-fulfilled nearing the end. I have succumbed to her prophesy. Your
carefree existence is almost alien in its strangeness. I rarely let go,
and every single time it comes back to haunt me. The ghosts of ten years
hence still call, but quietly. I open myself to you, and how much of me
do you need? And do I have the honor of having you in me?
Confusion is confusing. It wasn't anger I got
from reading your letter. Expectant and undecided you need to create something
tangible in beauty. I hope your rehearsal does a good turn this evening.
I would appreciate it very much if we had the chance to talk, even for
a short while. The life I've built around me insistently beckons. I shall
be online on and off, but things should settle down well enough that by
late this afternoon I will finally have some time to myself. The best moment
is that of anticipation. Kia, I await your response.
an embrace,
and herein my name is sigil |