4 Of Hearts

Whispers of silvery smoke cloud my judgement.
And a hungry emptyness fills my insides.
The taste of indecision; bitter and resentful on my tongue.
Do you think he sits there? The person who decides it all.
With scales, dropping things into each side, equating your destiny.
When words escape you, does he take a grain of sand out?
When he removes that speck of dust, do you forget some small thought that popped into your head?
Are we all puppets, with hidden strings?
"Poor old devil, his minds not what used to be."
Perhaps his scales got neglected; perhaps too much dust fell into them.
Perhaps his marbles rolled away...
What did this man drop into my scales when you fell into my life?
A pack of cards?
Shuffled, and out of order. Irregular.
With a malicious glint he regarded the cards I'd been dealt.
Out with the 4 of hearts, out with the 5.
Taking away suit by suit and leaving me only with the Joker.
Now I'm left, playing 52 card pick up. Unbalanced.
Do you think he sits there? Like a child pulling the legs off a spider.
Or squashing ants with his thumb.
Does he see me through the magnifying glass? Small, sublime.
How long until I feel the burn?
Perhaps this is just part of something bigger.
A layer, encased within something.
Like a russian doll, but continued infinately.
Perhaps in the future I will have a child who squashes ants.
Perhaps when that one ant gets wiped out, JFK gets shot on November 22, 1963.
With each clumsy stamp, a hollocaust wipes out hundreds?
Or perhaps I'm thinking too much.
Perhaps this is it.
And this is me.
And this is my all fault.

12 Kisses.

Am I doing this because I want to, Or because I am trying to avoid what I don't want.
It sounds the same, but there's a world of difference.
I could see the signs from the start; but should I doubt the signs?
I counted the x's you left on the messages in my inbox.

I get butterflies when I think of being close to you.
But are they because of excitement, or because I think I'm making a mistake?

19th December 2008: 8:07pm - Twilight

Preface
Its times like these that make me want to be in love.
That make me realise; I was never in love with you.
That make me realise love isn't that easy to come by and that it doesn't just fall into your lap each time you meet someone new.
It's made me understand the logic behind the saying "you'll know when you find the one".
It's made me understand who the one is, and what they are going to stand for. When I find them.
I haven't got the one; I didn't have it in the past, I don't have it in the present, and I can see it in my future for a while.
But I want it. I want to be in love.


I want those glittering moments; that glow like fireflies on a misty evening at dusk.
When everything is glowing russet red and amber, yet its the small details that are illuminated to sharpness by your sparkle. Details like the crinkles around your eyes, and the soft downy hair on your skin, brought to crisp life by your presence.

I want that warmth, that spicy sensation in the core of a person that contracts and rotates and makes your eyes burn and fizz with tears, swelling over, obscuring the beautiful vision.

I want the humming in the ears, blocking out every sound except the soft frequencies of your voice, the buzz or sheer bliss. It's audible if you think of it.

The sensation of floating, the floor falling away, and being left suspended in the dark with only you. Situated in the glycerine space, where time stops.
Your lips on my forehead.


Afterword
I can taste the beauty.
Sometimes I can't stop these waves of emotion, and recognition.
They show me what it could be like, what I could have.
They give me a quick sense of what it would feel like, and also torture me at the same time.
I didn't feel this back then, I don't feel it now.
All I can say, is that with every part of my being;
I hope its my future.
I'm praying its in there somewhere...
Somehow.