World's Apart

It's strange how well you think when you're on the road, driving to a familiar destination. You zone out in a way on the physicals, the appearance, the grip of the steering wheel, the headlights and tail lights of vehicles in front and behind. You just think. It's deep thought, mostly unprovoked, and yet gingerly hinted by a part of you, somewhere deep.

I sit in my room, candles lit, and with less brevity that last night needed. Tonight they're for more luxury and soothing, as the soft lit shadows that now reflect all of my pieces of furniture, dancing at the top of the wall and onto the ceiling. They try to coo me into thought, but it's all too sporadic, all to influenced.

I try and replicate my car, my best thoughts, but I can't get the volume right. The quiet is even too loud. Nothing comes out as clear, as sexy. The lines aren't crisp. I don't write what was once thought and now unthinkable. I stare...

I wait for something to happen, stare at the screen until my eyes hurt even. It never happens and I start to think of different pain felt. My legs, after nearly two weeks of little to no exercise bark at me, beg of me to relieve them with a warm bath. The urge fades, my legs hurt from today, my soul from this year.

I reach for Advil and pour it down my throat like my mom's Thanksgiving gravy, and though I'm homesick, I'm also sick of home. I think of having a wine day, but the thought of alcohol still makes me sick. Cleaning doesn't seem to have the comforting affect it normally does, that way of making you concentrate the front of the mind on a menial task, while the back of the mind meditates, relaxes. Much the way cleaning a gun does. Or the way someone who paints my feel.

I pull out some albums, vinyls I've bought, but yet to play. I search for my record player and realize that I still don't have one. Too much is unfinished in my life, and a ripe 24 I feel optimistic about having the chance too.

I'm wearing my heart on my sleeves again, and looking in the mirror, realize why so many people don't. I know I'm hurt, and with most things I've injured in life I know that they mostly go back to normal, although small things about it may change. I feel like I might be physically injured at any time, to include by myself, but am optimistic to think it won't be that bad. Ouch, I bit my tongue- Literally

I scroll through photos of my trip to California. The best of them are on the PCH. I've always loved a drive on the coast, and wish that it had been a little warmer; the windows down and the breeze combing my hair. Ventura was incredibly great, and I'm glad I had saved it for the last weekend. Nothing could've compared, nothing could've culminated better. I close my eyes, trying to smell the air, feel the beach. I open my eyes. No muse here, no one beside me. Just me, not in a car, not on the road, not on the beach; just me-alone.





"World's apart, hearts broken in two, two, two..."