considerable mountains

if i say it doesn't bother me, which it really doesn't, than why does it?
why does your face swim before my vision like a mirage? is that all you are? is that all you were, or just your actions?

am i checking out the same old story? the same book, the same yellowed, dog-eared pages; the same smell of old ink and paper that rises with the dust that escapes when i let it fall open in my palm. i know the ending, there's healing on the last page, but not before there's internal bruising. in an aisle marked for love, on a shelf with my name. it's the only book there, and i'm hoping that "so far" will make that statement true but hopeful...

i need to stop this, but...well...



i forgot what i was going to say.

i can't.

were anyone else to gaze through the aquarium glass at this, it would just be pitiful: swimming in circles.

enough. i'm stopping this and worrying no longer. what will be will be. someone once told me the more positive energy you put out, the more you'll receive in turn. enough with making himalayas out of anthills.

monty python plus popcorn should take the edge off.
i feel light-headed and heavy-footed at the same time.