cold sweats

I wake up in cold sweats, almost every night. Alone, just my ceiling fan, my room, the world and me.

The quiet is different at 3 am.

The shadows suffocating. Curling around my neck. Reminding me I am alone.

There’s a brief panic in these early hours “I’m alone I’m alone I’m alone.”

Nothing quite like

Cold sweats in bed, I feel sweat like a teardrop run down my thigh

The ceiling fan reminds me that time moves on. I wish this moment would. I crush my eyes and hope to not see the ghosts playing in my bedroom.

I close my eyes until I fall asleep again. Panic subsided, breathing steady. Cold sweats have passed.

fountain pen

one thing I can tell you is that I love the texture of a good pen

the feeling of the scrape, or glide, against the grainy paper

the sound of scribbles, etches, curves and swirls

the simple joy of writing filling me with desire to fill the page

doodling for the sake of seeing how the ink flows

journaling for the sense of letting it out

pouring myself out deliciously via pen

strangers

not many things we share in this world with complete strangers, except the sun in the sky and the moon at night.

branches

growing up, I used to think that destiny was like branches on a tree

there was no set path, no set-in-stone direction that your life would take

instead, you make decisions or reactions

that shape the way your branch weaves and bends

sometimes your branch breaks off onto a longer path

sometimes a shorter one

every “no,” every “yes,” gave growth to another split in the branch

reaching, reaching, twisting for the next move

trying to get higher and higher

there is no right or wrong way for a branch to look

it just grows

and so we make our decisions, shape our lives like a big strong oak

my only question was:

how far will my branch grow?

write all we can

What do we do

When the long day ends

 

Think of the future

Dwell on the past

Ohm, my oh my

What mightiness, vast

 

What of the days

Spent wanting away

What of the nights

Crying, “what  plight!”

a b c

I must be learning the a b c’s again.

Baby steps to figure out what love is like.

A – a kiss. How do you kiss someone you feel no emotional connection to? Not like you.

B – boy. A different one every so often, they come and go. None make me feel as you did.

C – cupid. Suddenly hit. Not sure if I am ready for this – again.

 

Who is playing with my heartstrings?

 

 

therapy

life gets weird,

love is strange,

we write words

to feel sane.

 

simple

simple pleasures

complicated problems

we revert to leisures

ignoring will solve them

 

disillusion ourselves

amid the confusion

the world overwhelms

with its illusion

quiet of sunday

start of a new week

end to a sweet retreat

 

glowing sun

clarifies day

last change, go & play.

too long

it’s been too long

i’ve been thinking about you

do you think about me

as often as I dream of you?

 

time has passed

but you’re stuck in my head

as if you’ll never leave

hopefully I’ll move on instead

 

it’s been too long

me thinking about you

and pretty sure

with me, you’ll have nothing to do.