"are you where your heart is?"

"i don't want to get there. i'm getting my heart out of where it is right now, which is probably the metaphorical version of limbo--not in, not out; not wholly good, not wholly bad; sometimes it falls to one wayside only to climb back to the edge of the fence and teeter dangerously once more. i need to teach it balance. i need balance, and that's something i don't have, it's either all good or all bad, and nothing weighs equally against each other, and all of it decides to weigh in."

yet another phase of thoughts-all-about-you-or-at-least-having-to-do-with-you-sir, and it's on the negative side. which is funny, because i was dancing. maybe when i do east coast, or am practicing the travelling charleston, or am getting a tiny blues fix with the lights actually on (and bright), i have no room to think about you. which is especially funny when i consider the last action.

but here i am, and i think of you, and i can't illicit a response from that dull, thudding organ caged by my ribs, which normally, at the vapor of you, breaks into a wild tap routine. or at least runs down the beach barefoot in slow motion (but the motion is not real time, obviously. my heart runs marathons, but not on sundays.).

you are the longest-running subject i've written about here, and the longest forlorn idea i've ever held on to. and maybe that's the only reason i keep adjusting my grip to white knuckles every time i feel you slipping.

maybe i need to get to where my heart is before i can save it from falling over the railing for good.

baby steps. baby steps, backwards, leaps forward, handsprings back again. like the charleston. sans the handsprings, unless you're feeling giddy and the dancefloor's on fire.

-d