Lightening Kisses. [You could say]

.... I cannot fathom what love is anymore... I try to lose myself in lightening kisses, indulging in sophistry; something I already know is an apocryphal story, still I let it play.  I do not know the heart these bones encase anymore so I let it flutter and beat, making me feel I may know it a little after all; I let myself believe. I let myself believe my lie so I can be wafted in the moment. So I don't see myself. I don't hear the stranger beating in my chest. Beating at it. So I can forget. Forget how much I do not know the person, sitting there, pushing her hair to one side, clinging to her fears, expectant like a child again.

It isn't that I don't despise the waking up, the silence. It isn't that I don't despise being told by a stranger to move on.  Not because I like thinking "but you don't know me, and you never tried." Not because I enjoy feeling less of myself in a soul that is fast becoming more than a stranger to me. A soul quickly turning into a distant mirror that I cannot look into.

I do it because I love the lie. The scent of that little lie brewing, makes the chaos disappear, the silence disappear and the emptiness then masquerades into budding, thriving, grooving life.
Yes, I love the lie, because the lie is the only way I feel any control over me. Over this life. Over this quaint planet harbouring me, without telling me why. 

I cannot fathom what love is anymore. I do not know who I am anymore, and I can feel my mind crumbling. So I trace my steps, chart my map just so I can garner the hope of something more, some time soon maybe, before I give in to this abysmal void taking over my space and my existence. So I trace my steps in the congenial purr of the evening. But I do not know if I must retrograde first. I do not know where to begin.

So I sit put. I can't move, till I know where to go. Bouncing between a hiccuping tomorrow and a  today that's caught firmly in yesterday's deep and dingy moor has taken it's toll on me. So I sit still, arms down, flags ready, under the evening sky.

There's something about the evening that makes me think. Nothing like the skies thousands of meters above the ground. Not like the phantasmagorical clouds leaving room for imagination.
There's something about the evening. The silhouettes. The yellow orange. And the many lives that pass by me so freely.

It grows darker. It's night. And the tears have done their rounds and tired. I move. Not ahead, nor do I look behind me. I walk away. Into a night of company, a night of noise, a night of lightening kisses. So I don't have to decide for just a little bit longer.