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Caustic Nostalgia 8:35 p.m. 2004-12-14 Sliding through this form liquid souls and paralysed stasis at the hands of those who judge. Standing at the brink the sun shines and everything seems perfectly clear. But its not. It never is... not really. So you saw me there standing in the fountain, subliminal poetry bubbling forth as the water soothes these burns littering my skin. Cigarettes and crumpled paper. This disease is eating through us, numbing, like the way you sat in the rain after a day of heartbreak. These drops of water, salty with tears and purine dreams of a childish sanctuary, these drops reflect you in every facet. The rainbow overhead was never meant for you. As the rain falls a million worlds are ruined and your picture is shattered as the water hits the street. Can you see them? See them watching you. Its not something that you can explain, this sense of giving in and giving up and knowing that its going to be alright because of it. This isn't something that they can teach you. These pools of oil a gleaming in the hazy sun of a falls morning. On the sidewalk staring into the street can you see your soul reflected in the fumes and the rainbows drifting so peacefully? It wasn't something you wanted to show other people- not really. It was just that you wanted to see it for yourself, and somehow everyone else noticed. So maybe you proved your point and things will be better now, except they know and they always ruin everything with their concern. Sure, she says, i'm broken, but its not something i can't live with. The shards of glass lodged in my knuckles resemble the pearls on your necklace and the mirror shattered at my feet is fascinating. So i'll sit here for hours, in the must and shadows and illusionary memrories of this old house, i'll sit here crouched for hours piecing this mirror back together. Because lately i've been wondering what i really look like. Every day you see these fragments, these small pieces of who you are, reflecting in the eyes of those who notice, and those who don't. Its in everything you do, the curve of your writing, the shape of your shoulders, the lines of your face. Every day we see some small part of who we really are. But somedays it isn't enough, somedays everything is confusing and you need to see the big picture. Because when the mirror's put back together, if you don't like what you see, you can always just start over. Your camera flashed and captured the look on my face but what does it all mean? I was wondering... what do you see in me? Who am I to you because I think that that's part of the picture too. If you could tell me who you think I am then maybe it would help to piece this mirror back together. Will you spend a few moments, drenched in midday sun and caustic nostalgia, will you spare a moment to let me know who I am through your eyes? Because lately i've been so curious. back & forth |