199. Underneath it all.

I guess people start at the beginning. It makes the most sense, you could probably follow this a little easier. Truth is...this has no beginning. The beginning is for me to know. The beginning is for me to hold on to. I should just explain my present to you. I should tell you that every morning when I wake up it's ten times better than when I went to sleep the night before. You can imagine how that is day after day. I should tell you that when someone asks me how my heart is doing I tell them it's "lifted"...nothing more...nothing less. I should tell you that I've never been at a loss for words, and now I dream of writing and I dream of words and I go to put them down on paper and nothing that I write is a good enough description for anything that I'm feeling. It falls short...every time. I should tell you that it doesn't really matter because I feel that. For me to even say that I'm at a loss for words should be the description itself. I should tell you that there's nowhere else I'd rather be. The constant wanderer has sat cross legged under a street light in this dark alley of a struggle. I should tell you that the street light is a metaphor...and I hope you can figure out the underlying tones. I should tell you that I gave an award to someone today. I should tell you that I mean every word that I say. I should tell you that I'm happy.

I should tell you all of that.



I wish that a window shone through my heart to play the part of a screen play. I'd be first in line at the ticket booth, front row center, and pack snacks for days as I'd daze in and out of reality while my reality...is...just that. Just that of perfection- slighted by physical perception to see that good things really do happen to good people in good time. I'm instructed by it from it while it ticks away the ticking time of day and I'm the first to say and the last to stay but this time I'm backwards. You were first and I followed leads that led me through broken trees into a breeze that I had prayed for since I discovered what attraction was all about. There's something about your voice. Something about the way you say Ashley or half that or just open up to start to speak when I can peek past that mask that I've finally gotten under to get under some skin and feel what it feels to feel. Past your voice to the hands with the touch second sense makes sense that tense is a word seldom used while around you and you...touch me...down my arm interlocking fingers and we interlock a gaze and raise everyone else's level of wishing on shooting stars but baby I've shot mars...past this galaxy of waisting time into something known as "what's yours is mine."






At night, I used to wish that the stars would whisper my prayers to the heavens because I was afraid my faith wouldn't stretch far enough. The stars must have screamed and shouted my words.

I should send a thank you card to those stars.