there is a sense of apprehension in the air; something is about to happen. It's all I can do to worry about it because when the entire world is alive and singing and shining I can't afford to be morbid. the time for that will come with the tweed jackets and candles and pumpkin-this-and-that. right now, right there, all I want is Forever. the Greek idea is that genuine beauty is rarely soft or consolatory. maybe there is something alarming about the way the sky is so decadently blue; the way the colors sing in harmony with the sounds of nature must be some kind of sin. it's way too beautiful. and when we sit among the so called sounds of nature I feel it acutely. there is a buzz in the air, an electricity within the bubble of peace that is our Spot. it's a constant in history. all forbidden love affairs and gentle flirtatious beginnings have their own iconic place. why is it that love requires real estate? it must be a primal instinct. we say it's temporary, that it's highschool love, it's puppy love, we just think we're in love because we're both sexy enough for it. but somewhere, somehow we always end up wondering what could have been and what could be. Â how odd is the adolescent perception of love. there is no logistics, no logic, no ideas of dead bedrooms. it's an untethered chemical reaction in a vacuum without friction. it glides, it soars, it burns. nothing matters except this mossy log and your clumsy kisses. your tongue is too far down my throat but dammit if it doesn't taste sweet. I say things I don't mean and I say things I'm embarrassed about. I think about you constantly, too much, and now you don't seem real. All that's real is that mossy log in those translucent woods. All that's real in this vacuum without reality is your familiar scent and sweaty skin. kiss me, again. maybe this isn't so bad after all.
