the pages have been blank for too long and sometimes I feel like I've lost the words somewhere along the way, left them scattered somewhere carelessly in the snow like so many sticks we'd gathered to begin... what?
it doesn't matter much. the sticks were never enough, and we knew it. we gathered them merely to have something to hold as we walked. something to focus on when we ran out of things to say.
I try hard not to read too much into this new dream I've been having... the one where I'm standing on the edge of the ocean or a fiery pit and you are next to me and you don't say a word. the feeling that carries over into my waking hours... the ocean spray, the heat wave.
pointless to read the cards again because every time it's the two of pentacles for us. a juggling act. a tightrope walk. we'll juggle and balance it says over and over, but what happens when the pentacles fall from the cascade? just more useless objects left scattered in the snow.
best or worst, I'm tired of leaving a trail of my intentions.
somewhere along the way your burdens reached a weight that read "too heavy" on the scale, and all the arms and words and hearts in the world weren't enough to carry them to the end...
the thing about life is that it goes on and on and on while we go through the motions. we try to shake the feeling of being underwater, of yelling over the sound of static from a broken tv. we try to make the things we say to each other mean something.
largely we are unsuccessful.
we forget to return phone calls, lose things, procrastinate. we break promises, we sometimes tell lies... we let people slip away...
we spend too much time being sorry for things we couldn't have changed.
it doesn't matter much. the sticks were never enough, and we knew it. we gathered them merely to have something to hold as we walked. something to focus on when we ran out of things to say.
I try hard not to read too much into this new dream I've been having... the one where I'm standing on the edge of the ocean or a fiery pit and you are next to me and you don't say a word. the feeling that carries over into my waking hours... the ocean spray, the heat wave.
pointless to read the cards again because every time it's the two of pentacles for us. a juggling act. a tightrope walk. we'll juggle and balance it says over and over, but what happens when the pentacles fall from the cascade? just more useless objects left scattered in the snow.
best or worst, I'm tired of leaving a trail of my intentions.
somewhere along the way your burdens reached a weight that read "too heavy" on the scale, and all the arms and words and hearts in the world weren't enough to carry them to the end...
the thing about life is that it goes on and on and on while we go through the motions. we try to shake the feeling of being underwater, of yelling over the sound of static from a broken tv. we try to make the things we say to each other mean something.
largely we are unsuccessful.
we forget to return phone calls, lose things, procrastinate. we break promises, we sometimes tell lies... we let people slip away...
we spend too much time being sorry for things we couldn't have changed.
