Beat. Beat.



To talk of adventure again, to listen to my heart as it falls in love with something new. I cannot live without this. I can only contain what is inside of me for so long until I begin to feel walled in. Lately I have been tight in concrete in the big city I am familiar with. I search for adventure in its familiarity, in the grey wash I hunt for it. I walk along the pavement slipping through the cracks. I long for a hot wind to find me as I turn a corner, I long for a scent to find its way up my spine. I look for myself again in the dust. If I stop searching I am already lost. I merge into the soot and the grime and the .....

 I stand in my shell of politeness and white and hear the hot dark drum of who I really am.

If nothing else of us in a day, but a moment's grace for that.

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