They don’t tell you this will always feel new, but you will experience it with the karmic penance of past lives. You will feel the weight of worry like talons etched in your shoulders but your heart will skip like tasting coffee.
You will pass a million thoughts like exit signs on the highway before one in specific will inspire you to bare right. Your head will not know. Your head will not know. Your head will know but will shut you down every time.
You will trace every possible outcome and tell yourself the worst is the one this will lead to. You will be musical chairs. You will be plans B through Z.
You will be your chin flick of the hand, a lined up secondary lover. You will want to hear from them but you will reach out to another. You will be nails on a chalk board, a fire fight, a drunken brawl with a fan in your colors at a ball game, but this act will not bring you home.
But you feel stage lights. You feel goal horns. You feel the sweet summer breeze and cars passing by at midnight. You are tickled but interrupted. You will claim to be desolate, but you are so damn ripe. You will shout a battle cry and it will come out like a song, or the other way around. You are tethered to the fear. It has been a blanket, or so you say.
Or so I say. I’ve been saying a lot of things about strength lately. I’ve been living in monochrome for sake of a fourth of my soul. Every other part has seen the sunrise, but this sore spot has stayed shaded. And I don’t believe I’m ready to change that even if it were on the table.
But I can’t help but be modestly turned out.
Like when I see you in the morning- the sunlight dancing lines across your cheek. You have saliva dripping slowly from the corner of your mouth.
You are snoring. My nails drag slowly across your naked back. You mumble something in the wake of comfort before falling gently back to sleep.
I stay awake just long enough to smell the cold city streets and our pheromones synch together. I stay awake long enough to take a short picture with my eyes.