Rhetoric and Flotsam

Wait, Wait, Wait - The Format

I'm looking at you
And my heart loves the view
Because you mean everything




And thus closes the curtains of a new day to start a new night, but streams of light still filter through these cluttered eyelids. Nonsensical whispers sneak across and through the carpet and creep up my blankets to crawl and snuggle in with me, only you're not there to tuck me in. Will it be the end of time that finally brings you to me? Or will that end only give birth to the fissure between us, that abyss festering between us? To me, those were words of encouragement, that we had hit rock bottom. In order to climb out, hand grasping rock, could imagination be our savior. My savior. And who was to tell me, to look straight into my gaze of fixed vacancy and tell me that it had just begun? Or had never started? Too many questions, too many answers. Like the jumbled letters of your Scrabble board, always frustrating me to never-ending end with the possibility of drawing a blank. Like how I chose you. Like how you didn't choose me. Funny to notice the discrepancies between our heartbeats, the thuds of your breaths clashing with the sighs of my aching fingertips. These fingertips disconnected between the dots that outline your face, the stunning curvature of your architecture. Oh, blessed be an onlooker worthy enough of hearing that poetry. Like you said, never does as never do. Although I was absolutely certain of the lack of grammar within those lines, it was assuring to find ignorance in bliss. But between the belief and the juxtaposition of the fall, did I realize what I realized. If only, and, ors, and buts. Those conversations never led to much conclusion, fighting and struggling like wounded soldiers to find some reason to carry on. A reason to breathe out anew and inhale the old, ancient, and wronged. Your Atlantis sunk long before I came along, or so you blamed me accountable for. That wretched paradise of isolation and "rut-on-the-side-of-the-road" symptoms had you fulfilled till disgusting, emotional gluttony. If you could even call your heart, emotion. But nevertheless, these words still spun sentences, these letters still clustered into mutterings, and this final goodbye never ceased.

And thus opens the door of a new life to start a whole new you, but the incandescent shadows still trickle behind these soft hands.