One, that love comes from our natural instinct to appreciate the intricate beauty of being. And secondly, from our innate craving to be understood.
You start to live in the comfort of their existence.
The intermingling sweetness of love and being loved
is much sweeter when tasted closehand. But —
the heaviness remains while you dance in the
softness of clouds laid rest on your toes awaiting
grey dull rains on Thursday evenings amidst drinking
beer and cocktails. Awaiting January movie nights
-nodding heads of lamplit hair
Ironic how most of the time I find myself quite frightened of decisions I have yet to make, of places you have yet to be, situations you have yet to fall into. As though worrying about them as early as now will make any difference when I actually come upon them. It’s frightening how life can stretch onwards, far beyond me. All these possibilities. And so many of them too..
We are never entirely sure what happens in the end and it’s such sweet comfort. Ignorance is bliss. Knowing where one should be without knowing exactly where one will be. Grey office cubicles, the dizzying technicolor of parenthood.
Right now, it doesn’t matter.
We can live off booze and a few kisses here n there. Maybe meet new people along the way. Making sure to stop at every sign post but not truly making way to any destination. Incredibly vibrant with an unquenchable thirst to experience so much of everything. Biting off more than we can actually chew. Self destructing because it’s somehow romantic. Reconstructing for the same reason we self destruct.
But some days are no adventure.
Some days you wake up mouth dry, aching for more sleep. Trudging across tuna fresh marble floors. Sighing at your emails. The tedious task of keeping sane. Earning money to buy things you’re convinced will make you happy. Mistaking every toxic romances for bittersweet love affairs.
For youth, life is a series of innumerable days.
We never count tomorrows because they are sure to come. We have too little yesterdays to regret any ongoing to-days. And so we spend it. Our fractured weekdays to build an uncertain future. Allowing ourselves to be gears in a machine that won’t stop for us. Becoming an employee number. Losing our weekends to sleep and reckless feats of deprivation. Because only youth can make any form of self ruin beautiful.
After all, we have countless decisions we have yet to make, untold places we have yet to be, innumerable situations we have yet to fall into.
Again, time to start anew.
so here’s to the drunkards
, the junkies
, the spit of the gossip
, the joke of the crowd
, the godless
, the insane
, the outcasts
here’s to the dirt of the spectrum
, the artist in boardroom
, the jazz player in a grey suit
, the actor in a costume
, the motley crews
, the dreamers
, the visionaries of a far away future.
here’s to the dying art
here’s to the living dead
here’s to the average man
here’s to his average breath