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About me:

the silence becomes so loud
and we both get drowned out

. . . and he sat there watching the particles form in the sun, and move, and disappear. The air was cool, not cold, but refreshing, and it made breathing so much easier. His lungs drank it thankfully, and repeatedly. His mind wandered, wandered deep, into a place of words, and ideas, and thoughts. He sat under his favorite tree, contemplating, dreaming, believing.

was everything so simple? Does everything just work out in the end, just like the hero, and the villain? Do people shake hands and make up, like the showed us when we were growing up? Do hearts mend, and make new flow, do they create their own tempo? Who wakes us when we are deep in sleep, and can't get up? Is there a thing called "reality"?

. . . and sometimes there's the open window, where you will throw out all your things, and make space for the new. Sometimes there is that special someone, that becomes dim, and eventually fades from your brain. Allowing momentum for new smiles and new eyes. Sometimes the words don't come out right, or confused, or whatever, but they are the words that mean the most, the words that take the most, consideration, thought, and tender care.

Finally . . .there is the ocean where he lives, and seeks. The place where he releases his happiness and his beliefs, his goals and identity, his laughter, his lover, and that is were everything sinks, and he draws closer to the end, to the bottom, to the darkness, and waiting for him . . .