dimming youth 

It’s okay that things change. It’s okay that people leave. It’s okay that we aren’t who we used to be, and that the places we used to hang out in don’t look the way they used to, they harbor new voices and thoughts now. Someone painted over what we drew on the walls a long time ago, it’s cool.

It’s okay because we’ll always have those memories buried deep beneath any other we make, they’ll always be with us, all of us are always with eachother. That’s the thing about true connections, they are impenetrable. Distance and time mean nothing to truth and that sort of love and friendship. Still, I miss it. I can’t help but miss it. I recognize that nothing good can go on indefinitely, lest it begin to lose mystery in its consistency. I recognize the beauty in the mercurial nature of the universe, this is how it all must be. 

It’s important to me that I always remember where I came from, who was there for me when I felt weakest, and it scares me that I’m losing all that as I grow older. Smiles are blurring, the sound of laughter is dying out, the experiences are dimming slowly but surely. New images are taking the place of old ones that I cherish far too much to let go, and I’m not ready. Just a little longer, that’s all I ask, just a few more moments to take it all in before I must let it go. 

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Streams of Subconsciousness 

Meaningless, worthless, aimless, useless. Often things happen because we think there is a reason or a purpose or some guidance occurring somewhere far beyond the tangible, not because there truly is. What is this butterfly effect no one’s been able to gauge without staining and tainting unbelievably with human error? Where is this place where the incredible is ordinary? I believe I would fit right in there, although I’d be wrong about that. 
No do-overs, no more second chances, no more restarts. That’s not the way anything is done around here. You do and it’s done. You say and it’s said. You die, well, you’re dead. 

Platonic friendship is beautiful because there is so little that can be said about its benefits other than that simple human connection you make with someone– you are not (hopefully) looking to gain or take something with the excuse of caring: not sex, money, connections, etc. You just, do. It’s pure (if anything here is). 

I can sit here in the water forever, although I’m alone, although I’ve not yet mastered solitude. I’ve not yet mastered anything, have you? Anyway, the sun is setting now and I’ve got to get up and wash my true thoughts off of my body before anyone realizes I’ve been gone. If I have the good fortune of seeing you again, might you be kind enough to remind me of what we discussed on this transient twilit evening? 

Anxious Alice 

Need a new muse, so I’ll blow the fuse, lift the ruse of infatuation

In translation I am feeling less free lately and more restrained

Ever since the gain from trade has lost the ability to sustain itself

Haunted 

I am feeling present and simultaneously gone 

So far along that I am lost within the synth of the song that stopped playing an hour ago 

Look up 

The number of stairs has multiplied by 65 since I walked down a couple years ago 

Into the rabbit hole 

Willing but terrified 

And now I look up and don’t see the sky 

Just your knowing eyes looking down at me 

Disappointed 

I’ve anointed myself with the dime of grime that’s oozing from behind the door that wasn’t here a second ago 

Let’s go? 

Oh, but we only just got here!

And fear is not a good enough reason to leave behind this space we’ve discovered in our minds 

Time?

Oh but we’ve plenty of that,

It’s everywhere- over the sky, under that mat 

We can swim in it if you’d like

Arboretum of Afterthoughts 

Like hash and cigarette ash 
He had a way about him

Something new   

But familiar too

There was a green dragon 

Sitting on his forearm 

Not a force to be reckoned with 

Nor a reason to be intrigued,

Left as quickly as he came

Silhouette outlined by the remains of his scent

A thought maintained, lingering in my brain 

Gone like the dream that never was 

Remembered like the thought that never left 

Who he was, was who I am?

Were neither a thing of trueness? 

Particles 

Nothing, 

Everything,

Sometimes.

Where’s the gray area? Is that where you live? Somewhere absolutes don’t necessarily exist? Where it doesn’t have to be this or that, here or there, now or never.

I wonder about memories sometimes, about their structure, what they are. Are they individual universes? In which I can perpetually walk into class and take a seat behind you, in which you haven’t yet realized what life will become? In which you are silent, observant, innocent, wise, beautiful, magical, idescribably painful in your unattainanibility?

Where does it end? Where have you gone? For in the present tense you are not who you were. I guess none of us are. And so those universes, that remain in my mind, where those scenes are played out again and again on a continuous, eternal loop, that’s the only place it exists anymore–

It is unique to my consciousness. It ends with me. Hope. Particles of hope are scattered all over this constructed reality, intangible, the result of an explosion of desire that was never meant to achieve anything. They float, like dust, in the atmosphere, in and out of my universes and those of these constructed realities–they are not biased as you and I are in these things.