it's hard for me to reconcile the world that i perceive and the one that exists. i'm caught between the two and it's breaking me apart. the only comfort that i have is to create an illusion that keeps my hopes up, but i know that i'm keeping the truth from myself.

i'm a mosaic of dreams that shatter and crumble. as i grow older and realize how fragile i am, i become more hesitant to put the pieces back together. but as i do, i save the small but special pieces that glitter and shine for those i love most and leave myself with only the modest remainder. i can create new dreams but each iteration becomes a little safer and less spontaneous. the prospects of that happening frightens me and i cling desperately to old and idealistic dreams fated for failure. and i know that.

from the diary of sargent pepper

the most poignant and beautiful moments spent in one's life are lived alone and while contemplating emptiness. it is in these moments that i've realized what it is to be human: singularly broken; collectively redeemed. upon such a revelation, humans become enamored by the pursuit of the one true love they've been promised to become a "whole" being.

during the course of a life, individuals appear that seem so exciting and wonderful that the heart races each time their name is spoken and it's hard not to look as they walk by. it may seem like the world has given you a sign, but this individual is often times preoccupied with finding their own "right one" and, subsequently, they may care very little for any future prospects that include yourself.

that is the hardest sell, to create the brand of "you" that is desirable to another human being. if we sit on the shelf long enough looking down our noses at potential buyers, we soon learn that our expiration date is also steadily coming closer and closer. we scramble to accept the first person that we can see ourselves living with but this individual just won't radiate the same magic the others had.

wasn't that the point of trying to find another person? someone whose eyes reflect all the lights back like diamonds and whose arms could cradle your whole world. it's heartbreaking and sobering but look at what wonderful music we make while wandering alone.

of? love.

the concept of love
young hearts fill with wonder
but as years go by
it tears them asunder

the innocent boy
lost to the world
set off in a boat;
sails never unfurled

the patient girl
waits for her fate
pursuing false truths
never finding her mate

faithfully they sit
eyes to the moon
the sun begins to rise
then it's over too soon

to take what was new
and make as if old
this is a tale
so often retold

to hear a song and fall in love with just a single listening

it's as though it has been silently playing in my head my whole life until it finally reached my ears. the sounds vibrate across my eardrums and are translated from analog to electrical impulse, in a way, becoming part of me

the electricity runs through my veins, causing goosebumps to rise and a widening of my eyes

then i realize why human beings dance

compelled to move by something primal and basic

billions of cells moving in unity to a single impulse; never questioning

we go about our lives dancing with one another to the inaudible beat of our hearts. as they pass our lips, words turn to lyrics both faint and ephemeral

there is no audience to listen to the performance but the stars, and yet, we still sing and dance as passionately in their light

sometimes i wonder about how tightly we grasp the thread of reality. it's only when it's pointed out to us that we notice our white knuckles.

we seem so afraid without it; like we're lost in the woods and the breadcrumbs we've left ourselves are no longer to be seen

often times my heart starts to race and my mind fogs over. is it terror or is it exhilaration? i can honestly not tell but its something vaguely familiar

i'm just an excited electron whose existence is to move back and forth through brain tissue and electron clouds hoping to one day return to the ground state

just one of many elaborate machines designed to become obsolete once my gears get too rusty

i wonder what the others will think of me when i return to the ground state

a bedtime story

There once was a girl who slept upon feathered pillows each night. She would rest her head, heavy with her regrets and unspoken words, until she discovered a lightness that eluded her in wakefulness. Each morning, as she awoke from the dreaming, tears would fill her eyes. She closed them as hard as she could hoping to go back to the peace she found, but when she opened her eyes again she realized the world she created was not there anymore. The tears would run down her cheek onto the pillows that laid beside her silently. She didn't feel happy but she wasn’t sad. She was alive and the world weighed upon her shoulders once again.

As she prepared herself for her day, she gave no thought to the feathers that filled her pillows; laying white and as pure as snow inside of the pillow cases that were strewn across her bed. They had been destined to carry the weight of imperfect creatures against the oppression of reality since their creation. Each of the quills represented a reparation to the Earth, allowing whichever mortal form possessed them to attain communion between Dream and Reality. Before her there was the bird, so free and without sin, gliding across the clouds that rolled beyond where the eye could see. But as is his nature, Man became jealous of the transcendence of the bird and had to punish it by taking away its feathers and binding them in cloth.

A long time ago they found themselves in the girl’s care and each night, as she slept, the feathers would take on the heaviness that the girl accumulated over the course of the day without bearing a grudge or finding fault in her soul. Each smile she would cover up, each song she’d leave unsung, each breath she held, and each idea she kept secret would pass from her dreaming mind into the care of the feathers. Days went by and, soon enough, months also came and went. Each night the feathers would change and the burden they carried would slowly turn them heavy, brittle and gray.

The girl soon realized the feathers were no longer soft and lovely. Without remorse or even a second thought, she threw them away for she was young and beautiful while they were old and humbled. This was a world of vanities and passion. She did not realize the sacrifices they had made to keep her happy, if only during her dreams, and so they were gone.

The pillows now sit underneath other such possessions that have been used up and thrown away like trash. But unlike them, they still did not blame the girl, nor those like her for what they had done. Although the pillows now lay heavy with the stains of forgotten tears and what-might-have-beens, they have found a new lightness in their own naive dreams.

illumination

in a day such as this,
we shall no longer exist,
and the sun shines brightly to remind us