dolorous interludes.

The mundane quality of groundhog day seizes my half-aware and awake being this morning. We are like straggling worms wishing for a horizon beyond what we can already see, but seldom are those who look beyond happy because of the sinking awareness of the grey skies above every land, no matter how far, or how wide their myopic vision takes them to. It is said that “man works because there is nothing else to do in life”, and this morning, I am reminded of this sickeningly helpless but realistic truth. The older and the wiser (by the world’s standards), have told me “life would be indeed extremely boring if not for work”. Well then, the basis and definition of work would then need to be first clarified. Ah. screw those precise pendantic definitions. Definitions only serve to confine the true and all-encompassing meanings of most affairs. I write today merely because I was star-struck by the dreadfulness of my mornings: trudging back to school, sitting in the oppressive and neatly calculated divisions in this stale and cold machine box facing, while typing this, a grey and slowly warming mechanized wonder that all boys on the face of this earth seem to worship. It warms not to my writing; I am sure it shudders with distaste at my frequent outbursts of dislike towards its workings; it serves however as my only form of warmth this morning, and my only friend, while the office wails in silent agony to be set free from all rules, regulations, and boundaries impressed upon them for just one purpose that keeps the forward moving motions of this life less difficult: gold coins. The issue of wealth and affluence is a strange one. As young children, one seldom realizes the value and worth of a penny; yet, we were happy. As growing adults today, we are often confounded by our silent cravings, attributing this need to understanding that figures, digits, and returns govern life. It is queer how we try to find joy in what we do daily; why isn’t there hardly something that first ignites in us a measure of strong pure impulsing joy, that leads us to exercise freely our choice and freedom to actively engage in moments such as these? No obligations, no sense of duty, no boundaries; completely and wholly free agents of this world. Perhaps I will grow to love waking at six every morning and having a slice of buttered bread on my way to work because there is hardly any time for a slow and enjoyable meal at such an hour; perhaps the day will come when I soon find joy in being told what to do and being confined by a whole year’s worth of syllabus that was planned eons ago; perhaps I will soon learn to accept the instinctively mechanized workings of this world. I must be thankful and appreciate the slow but steady flow of income that shall be my incentive. Ah. How such financial flows change things, motivate people, keeps one going.

With my incessant ranting all said and done with this morning, I now wish to write of my lovely previous day that might once more, cause some to gag with sickening throbbing minds at having read my entries that sound all too similar because of the nature of my choice of focus of late. No. not choice. The joy of my entire being is centered on this one person, and this is not by choice; he drives me mad with want and need for him, and this I do so helplessly. I did not decide for this; it freely led me and I yielded. Time with him journeyed on briskly yet again, and this time, we travelled to Miami. It was pouring and the chilly winds forced us closer together in a huddle; warmth was transmitted through our mutual caresses, and irresistable desire was borne merely by his glances. The sun was absent in the grey-white skies, but it certainly was present in his smiles. I love his smiles do you know? They come in so many forms; the cute cringly one when he laughs, the side grin, the full smile, the impudent and slightly evil curvature on his lips… as good as the afternoon was, night times spent out with him were always enchanting, and last night was no exception. The orange red lights melted onto the leaves of the enveloping trees, and it felt as if we were wrapped up in this enchanted garden of magic; a secret forest it seemed, and our secret would lie in there forever; “the trees have long memories. I feel like they are listening…holding me to my promise to love you forever,” he typed in fear of insensible emotions that lead us only to tear. I felt in a whirl where in there it existed only two of us; he wheeled me into his heart where I felt the strongest and surest of emotions and words; words are sometimes lost and forgotten, they are said, and like chaff in the winds, they are blown away and are lost to them eternally; but, moments like these will always be remembered and treasured dearly, and only fools are those who forget such precious times such as these. Conversation was later slightly coarse and embittered, but Love taught two people to listen and to hope. “even though you do not see it, it doesn’t mean it doesn’t exist.” And quite right you are, I couldn’t agree more.

The sweetest and dearest thing you are to me my love, and the “insane hope” that you feed me, as some would call it, has unshelled me slowly but surely. Out of my little four walls you have taken me, and into your embrace I have fallen. With no pretty lacings and no lavishing adornments, my heart merely whispers that it loves you.

posted by voyeur @ 1/12/2004 09:51:00 AM