good to sea you
This entry isnt meant to be eloquent or emotional in the least, just honest. I put it behind a cut to prevent any unwanted glances. I know that what I have to say isnt always the sweetest cup of tea, if ever, so.
I cant offer sense making, ever. Only making
I'm sitting in a cafe feeling myself permeate through everything around me as people walk in and walk out and walk on. All walking, possibly with places to go, probably with people to see. I had an exceptionally good day but as I sit smoking weariness takes over the joy I usually feel myself inhaling. Inhale monotony. Exhale relief. I hope that I can look back on days as such and just smile for the silly and let the rest roll off of me like water drops racing down a windshield. How great it is to be anything at all. As I wear my hands over my face like some mask, I can feel frown lines form with time and I cant help but wonder what I'll have left when they make some permanent mark. Age wont be my friend, this I know. People approach me now most usually for some unusual 'beauty' they find exotic. In actuality, it's just being a foreigner in a city full of caucasian strangers. My lineage gave me the advantage of uncommonly large dark eyes and even darker hair. Indian? No. Just Jasmine. A lot of the time people only approach one another due to some attraction of sorts, but what do I have when every hand I ever had placed on this face leaves its touch. Frowns and lines and sand paper like existence for all to stare into. I wonder what people will ever come to me for when they no longer consider this pretty. I give it a good 5 years, 10 if time is on our side. The curse isnt mine only to bear. You too will get old. And we'll all be left facing whether or not people will look into our faces and see anything more than a number. Resilience is one word for it, the one word I'd like to keep in mind come the dawning of some pre-dispositioned mid madness crisis. I'm smiling and that too will take its toll. Hopefully people will assume I just smiled too much when some upturned forest grows around my mouth and up my forehead, extending to temples too long gone untouched.
What has me thinking of age one might wonder. It's no trick question though. Only my mother.
Listening to a song about the most beautiful woman someone has ever seen and the mention of a mother abruptly after with beautiful banjos serenading the memory at hand, my thoughts go immediately to hers, whatever it is she could have been thinking. Ill never know.
What I miss most though would have to be those eyes. The light greens that washed against one another around her darkly defined iris. I would give my soul for the chance to stare into those eyes for one minute more. 'With the only woman you ever loved' is the next song that sings into my ear and I cant help but wonder if tears will make an appearance. Heres to hoping not. Children make up the chorus that comes next, and my thoughts magnetize back to myself. People always tell me that I look like her, and maybe I do, but this genetically inherited jawline can only pale in comparison to hers. Milk like skin and schizophrenia on her sleeve, I can only wonder if I'll ever think anyone as pretty as I did her.
Alot of people consider their mothers the most beautiful woman they've ever seen and I guess that I am only the same. She was the most beautiful woman alot of people had ever seen and I'm thankful for the fact that I was never the only one able to look into her eyes. She wasnt given the chance to grow otherwise though. I try and imagine her with mapped out constellations from the sky in her smile, lines tracing every moment she ever verbally made with a smile, a pause, a scream even.
And you'll find someone you can compare to a sea. Since my mother passed away I've been waiting forever and a day, just to die. And someday soon, you will die. And the cancer will spread into my body and my lungs. Im now listening to myself sing a child-like chorus in my head, wondering if Ill ever have a story to tell to someone besides this journal about the only woman I ever loved.
I sound sad, but it's smiles all around this side of the street. Someday I hope its so apparent that I wont have to state it. Now overtaken with a flotation like feel and dizzied atmospheric waves dancing through the room I question if any of this is real. It's too good to be.
But it's too good not to be.
I cant offer sense making, ever. Only making
I'm sitting in a cafe feeling myself permeate through everything around me as people walk in and walk out and walk on. All walking, possibly with places to go, probably with people to see. I had an exceptionally good day but as I sit smoking weariness takes over the joy I usually feel myself inhaling. Inhale monotony. Exhale relief. I hope that I can look back on days as such and just smile for the silly and let the rest roll off of me like water drops racing down a windshield. How great it is to be anything at all. As I wear my hands over my face like some mask, I can feel frown lines form with time and I cant help but wonder what I'll have left when they make some permanent mark. Age wont be my friend, this I know. People approach me now most usually for some unusual 'beauty' they find exotic. In actuality, it's just being a foreigner in a city full of caucasian strangers. My lineage gave me the advantage of uncommonly large dark eyes and even darker hair. Indian? No. Just Jasmine. A lot of the time people only approach one another due to some attraction of sorts, but what do I have when every hand I ever had placed on this face leaves its touch. Frowns and lines and sand paper like existence for all to stare into. I wonder what people will ever come to me for when they no longer consider this pretty. I give it a good 5 years, 10 if time is on our side. The curse isnt mine only to bear. You too will get old. And we'll all be left facing whether or not people will look into our faces and see anything more than a number. Resilience is one word for it, the one word I'd like to keep in mind come the dawning of some pre-dispositioned mid madness crisis. I'm smiling and that too will take its toll. Hopefully people will assume I just smiled too much when some upturned forest grows around my mouth and up my forehead, extending to temples too long gone untouched.
What has me thinking of age one might wonder. It's no trick question though. Only my mother.
Listening to a song about the most beautiful woman someone has ever seen and the mention of a mother abruptly after with beautiful banjos serenading the memory at hand, my thoughts go immediately to hers, whatever it is she could have been thinking. Ill never know.
What I miss most though would have to be those eyes. The light greens that washed against one another around her darkly defined iris. I would give my soul for the chance to stare into those eyes for one minute more. 'With the only woman you ever loved' is the next song that sings into my ear and I cant help but wonder if tears will make an appearance. Heres to hoping not. Children make up the chorus that comes next, and my thoughts magnetize back to myself. People always tell me that I look like her, and maybe I do, but this genetically inherited jawline can only pale in comparison to hers. Milk like skin and schizophrenia on her sleeve, I can only wonder if I'll ever think anyone as pretty as I did her.
Alot of people consider their mothers the most beautiful woman they've ever seen and I guess that I am only the same. She was the most beautiful woman alot of people had ever seen and I'm thankful for the fact that I was never the only one able to look into her eyes. She wasnt given the chance to grow otherwise though. I try and imagine her with mapped out constellations from the sky in her smile, lines tracing every moment she ever verbally made with a smile, a pause, a scream even.
And you'll find someone you can compare to a sea. Since my mother passed away I've been waiting forever and a day, just to die. And someday soon, you will die. And the cancer will spread into my body and my lungs. Im now listening to myself sing a child-like chorus in my head, wondering if Ill ever have a story to tell to someone besides this journal about the only woman I ever loved.
I sound sad, but it's smiles all around this side of the street. Someday I hope its so apparent that I wont have to state it. Now overtaken with a flotation like feel and dizzied atmospheric waves dancing through the room I question if any of this is real. It's too good to be.
But it's too good not to be.