get out

i keep blinking and it takes hours
there was something about living that i used to know quite well. i have forgotten it while blinking somewhere...
on the warm grass of the arbouritum; in between the edges of a most amazing home; in the heart of a man i am learning; in the backseat of a borrowed van listening to good-bye sounds and cries of "you're not ready yet"; in the last few rows of a movie theater; in this stale, helpless box with sadly hopeful faces looking on to where i will be; on a seat in the subway that i just didn't want to share...
so now all i can do is wrack my brain to try and find what piece fell out. it consumes me until i get back (to the top and i turn and i got for a ride)
and then my mind is a rubix cube upon completion; being set back on the shelf, done and waiting patiently to become confused again.

"you're not ready."
thanks brain, i think i'm finally okay with that.

(see simon: as a teddy bear without a map to the picnic)
(see annie: giving a fuck to stuart)