Like a poem poorly written, we are verses out of rhythm, couplets out of rhyme

Mood: I'm living. And that's good.
Listening To: "The Dangling Conversation" by Simon and Garfunkel.
Reading: "Two Hot Dogs with Everything" by Paul Haven.

It's a still life watercolor
Of a now late afternoon
As the sun shines through the curtain lace
And shadows wash the room

And we sit and drink our coffee
Couched in our indifference
Like shells upon the shore
You can hear the ocean roar

In the dangling conversation
And the superficial sighs
The borders of our lives

And you read your Emily Dickinson
And I my Robert Frost
And we note our place with bookmarkers
That measure what we've lost

Like a poem poorly written
We are verses out of rhythm
Couplets out of rhyme
In syncopated time.

And the dangling conversation
And the superficial sighs
Are the borders of our lives

Yes we speak of things that matter
With words that must be said
Can analysis be worthwhile?
Is the theatre really dead?

And how the room has softly faded
And I only kiss your shadow
I cannot feel your hand
You're a stranger now unto me

Lost in the dangling conversation
And the superficial sighs
In the borders of our lives.

-"Dangling Conversation," Simon and Garfunkel.



Things have been hard for the past couple of days, but they're working themselves out, falling into place.
And I feel the need to speak in poetry.
This is how it usually happens.
I speak in line breaks that I call poetry.
Tangent, sorry.

I don't know. I just need some time.
To breathe, to let go.
Things will work out.

I just need to learn to step back and trust.

"Maybe happiness is something that we can only pursue. And maybe we can actually never have it no matter what."
-Chris Gardner, "The Pursuit of Happyness."

Ta.

<3 = brittany