off much deprived limelight

The stationery in its case was not new. Neither was the case. The tote bag carries sights and sounds from back when writing on the side was still an option to flirt with. The same red seats are still caved in and the child-like comfort that comes with being wedged in one remains.

Faces that came around held the same familiarity from three weeks before but perhaps with more cheer. When you come down to it, it's easy to see that the categories that exist are inevitably the same; eyes - check, smile - check, wave - check.

And yet, something was amiss.

The sounds have changed.
Texts make echoing sounds into the world without ears to capture and correspond to them.

Voices that formed the basis of tickling smiles are muted and missing.

That one supposedly annoying note of sound that's something of a syllable but definitely more descriptive than that, is missing. Never would I have guessed that I would miss it and yet I do.
More than most, which is why the dread of the coming courses of action are so difficult subdue.

Because nothing is ever always, always.

. . . . .

To admit defeat was not even in my list of options but it being the topmost on your lists stumped me. The revelation that many ships have sunk or is about ready to is disappointing. I won't lie and say I didn't wish things were different. Perhaps desiring for sink-proof ships is a little beyond real but is this so meaningless that it is easier to waive off than build upon? Or maybe you're in on a secret formula to watch a sinking ship go its course without a wrenching heart.

Pray tell so I too can forget mending holes and willingly let it sink.

. . . . .

This writing, you think it's writing when it's not really writing cause next to writing, it stands not even like writing because writing is writing and writings like this can only hope to slip through by being in the written form and perhaps be considered writing but really, it isn't writing because real writing appeals and none of this appeals because stiff seems to be the game play that doesn't want to leave and be far away from this writing.

And so, stiff she is.

. . . . .

The bunch of Hebrew words now repeating in my head tell me that: provide, He will; faithful, He will be; trust, I must.

Precisely why I will have to sit out probably among the best gigs ever to grace this part of the universe only to have a private 'gig' with recordings from the Scotts.
And why dear you will remain unwritten with Hope for it knowingly dismissed.
And why the silliness that jerk tears that were not worth the trouble will be made insignificant.
Also why hearing from the white coats lately have become less of what it used to be =)

please and thank You.

. . . . .

This is my heart (without some)that is now very much best friends with the one called up son and/or daughter of set.

minx wrote at12:59 PM
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