vague

this is my moment.

i run my hand through the soft, cold beat of the clouds. turn my head to the left. i see glimmers of blond. something strong.
now i'm running through a murky brown. flashes of white, twinkles of black. there's a window in front of us, and it was a beginning though you were the only one who knew it.

clench and throw all i got. but i don't. i just roll my tongue around in my mouth, and try not to be too honest. no one needs to know. they already know. i wish they didn't. why did you come?

there, on the roof. she tried to tell him something. but words? not this time. yell it loud, baby. sometimes that's what your soul needs more. it's better than a hook to the punching bag. probably because that's where i get my knots, right in my lungs. nothing like a good slap of air to knock it all loose.

this is my moment.
i remember the small things. i hold them in a pocket, only for me to know. the flashes. the feelings.
isn't it funny how there are some things only you know?
handfuls of time only you have experienced?

no one else.

it's only october. only only only only. it feels like it's been a thousand years and only a week at the same time. i've never had the kind of memory people call good. there are some things as clear as day that have happened over a year ago. and then there are some things that happened just yesterday that are already taking root in forgotten land.

i was just on the train ride in the airport, going back home. but there were too many people in the train and my back was to the pole so i had to be steady on my feet. funny how you think you have it, then you're stumbling around.
i can't make sense of any of it.
the walls of the tunnel flash by, and there are all sorts of colors and smells and places. marbles in a basket. he was tall. she was short, and had a sheepish grin. a laugh slipped from my lips, and was lost in the pollution of noise.

already gone.

this is my moment.
why am i so afraid? why do i feel so small? why can't we just say the things we feel?
why are things so complicated?

if every moment is our own, why do we act as if it is someone else's?
that's not selfish. is it? i don't think it is. but right now, i can't make sense of anything. there are shades of blue that give me the deepest sorrow and the deepest joy at the same time. everything is meshing.

vague. yeah. that's what this is. but that's how i feel.