Sometimes you are meant to be exactly what you are. Exactly who you want to be. People tend to grow into themselves with the love and hate of those around them. Common sense often prevails and out of shit comes blossoms. We bloom in our own silly way. And we all need watering and pruning. Parents friends lovers foe. All secret scented lies.
All sweet hurt in obvious disguise.
I often scribble about my travels. You often read about my travels. Roaming and zig zagging across this conurbation like Lassie on Ritalin. I see the dusty dawn more often than I would choose to but I love seeing it each and every time. You know where you are in those still & quiet minutes; when the blackness becomes purple and the buildings awake from their slumber. Buildings made familiar by default.
This city isn’t anything different to most in it’s concept. Yet this city is perfectly flawed. It’s resilience is it’s down fall at times. Yet we create magic from that by being stoic and yet challenging. By being partially responsible for the nothing or everything spirit. Shit or get off the pot.
Getting on with it doesn’t mean getting over it. It may be the first step in healing simple wounds but the issue is still digging deep into the bones of you. Sore sure smiling pinching wincing woe. All suffocating stupidity wrapped in chance. We all smile as our tears are drying. Common occurrence in these parts. Sobbing softly into soft shoulders made taut with temper.
I will put money on the answers coming in dreams. I will proclaim your blame will shame itself and spin sweetly to a sudden stop. Pop goes your fiction; your tale told sold and wide open, dog eared diction ignored. Can’t help yourself because your arms are crossed. Face down frown.
For each a reason. Not one but you. You are already in me. And I don’t know quite what to do.