Sunday, April 12, 2015

at the end of the day people make choices
they choose a creme brulee over a piece of cake
they choose to listen to this song over that one
this voice over that voice
this story over that story
in the air in between lies miscommunication and mystery
in the air in between perhaps----lies the truth
not so much A or B but a sound...something strictly phonetic
thus is the birth and death of relationships.
 It isn't what was said but how it was said, how it wasn't said.
The vague foggy sun sets, the clouds, the rain, the morning drizzle, the wet grass,
and suddenly you don't talk any more and every day in the backest of your mind you wonder why they don't love you any more.
Why they hate you.
But you are too wise to think it's that simple. a tide pours in, rushes out, a flower blooms,
 the season is right, the blackberries are better this year than they were last year.
 And so a friendship dies.
 And so the new leaf pushes and presses where the old crackled leaf must fall.
Sad but beautiful.
Beautiful, what men call you, but they don't know what it means.
Beauty is to know loss and know you are better for it.
To see the entire let yourself be
just a perfect fading piece.

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