2004-07-29
thrice the werd
I write in this so often that tonight I sense that it is an obligation. That is wrong, and it sounds depressing. Sorry, that is not the intention. But honesty is.
I love the truth, whatever it may be. All of it, in its entirety. Just knowing what ought to be known, as a truism, as genuine and real. Tell me all your thoughts undone. I'll tell you mine. This is unlike myself, and my secret ways. Here is a special window of opportunity to find out anything! Umbrellas contain so much symbolism. Mine is about to burst out again.
People are too easily distracted. No me. No typo there, I like talking when it barely makes sense. I really should cop out of this one with a song. It's not too late for that. Stop being so patient with me.
This one actually bites when typed out like this, but is quite powerful in its original audio state. This world is inhereantly sentimental. My cousin wants to be the one to take his favorite piece off last from the Thomas the train engine puzzle we did. Trillions of pennies lay at the bottom fountains across the world. Think of that one "Goonies" scene. Knocking on wood. Birthday candles. Roses, big bursting bouquets. Celestial bodies, smiles. So much more. That, in itself, is sentimental. Oh, yeah. The song, before this stupid schpeil (??) about liking things for the sake of liking them, et cetera. Song time, be patient with it and just enjoy.
"Passenger Seat"
i roll the window down
and then begin to breathe in
the darkest country road
and the strong scent of evergreen
from the passenger seat as you are driving me home.
then looking upwards
i strain my eyes and try
to tell the difference between shooting stars and satellites
from the passenger seat as you are driving me home.
"do they collide?"
i ask and you smile.
with my feet on the dash
the world doesn't matter.
when you feel embarrassed then i'll be your pride
when you need directions then i'll be the guide
for all time.
for all time.
You know I would permit reenactment of this, but only if I am involved. It would have to be our own, though. Everyone has these moments, and somehow is absorbed in themself enough to suppose they are the only ones to cherish it the way they do. Blergh, now I'm back on sentimentality again. I'm ruining the moment: how ironic. Sorry. Apology accepted.
Whoa, there was more to say. Somewhere in there. Oh, now I like the moon more. Thanks. Quasi-important statement, not what I was trying to think of. It'll come, later. All in due/doo/dew time.
leesah-likes at 11:57 p.m.