Lustuad

you have been gone a long time now. there is nothing left of you in this world save for maybe some of the dust of your beautiful bones adrift the winds every year I thought you being gone would be so much easier. maybe feel less heavy. today is a very heavy day... I wanted to call you when I woke up from a nightmare. I wanted you to tell me you were okay and laugh at me being silly. I wanted you to come kidnap me in the middle of the night and we'd go sit in a parking lot somewhere and talk and listen to music. I wanted hundreds of your hugs, and an infinite amount of the little kisses you'd put on the top of my head or brow... I wanted to trace the calluses on your fingertips from all the instruments you played and commit them to memory again... I wanted to stare at your face while you talked about impossible worlds . admire the tiny little scar on your lip from the same banjo that left a scar on the back of my hand. you've been gone a long time now... and today, I want

there is a sense of sadness about knowing that no one ever escapes the era their lifetime was allotted to. but we can carry in us in these eras echoing memories from the past, because that lifetime was so strongly lived.

it is raining again when it rains I always now think of you how so dearly you love the rain I always imagine how every drop falls for you. over and over just for you... and so do I

the feeling again like I won't be here very long... my art is dull my words feel weightless breathing is harder my body is much more than tired... i find something beautiful in the thought that maybe someone will lovingly run their fingers through the dust of my bones maybe that will soothe the lonely ache in my soul ... why does being empty of all creativity feel just like dying? because if I've nothing left to create let. me. rot. . .

I love listening the to music your soul makes when it is inspired it sounds like a warm and wonderful fiddle played in an Irish pub I could sit and listen for hours

I was never someones romantic dream only ever a fleeting fancy; a curious conquest of my adoration for them it is a thing i am only ever too aware of and though I do not ever NEED it, truly , to survive i will forever wonder and daydream how lovely that must be and break my own heart every time

my love in my heart for you expands beyond that out any known celestial being within any cosmos of any time... few times in my life have I ever held love for another being with such an intensity that it feels as though it could be the ruin of me... how cruel of the universe to make such a creature so very full and capable of unfathomable unending love and place it at the hands of those that could or never will feel even a sand grain of that feeling within themselves let alone for another being... my heart beats, breathes, and bleeds for romance, intimacy, tenderness and truly unconditional love how awful it is to get your heart broken by the weight of your own love for others. i hate what i am, but i will never cease to be it

I think I know why I feel so very olde and tired... and not in the ways one may think. After another night of being tossed about as the universe's play thing before being tossed back into my being I have had many deep thoughts of the glimpses of things I have been shown. people speak of past lives of the people they were and the things they did. and while I have a small handful- the rest of them have never been a feeling or experience I would associate with humanity. they are shadows and images... sounds. nothing that I could ever piece together really. then - the the middle of reading one of the final chapters of "The Grande Infinite" the thought completely gobsmacked me: what if I was an olde tree in another life? the question itself made me swell with so much emotion it felt like the relief of being found when you were terrified and lost as a child. Big fat tears sprang up so fast I was caught off guard by them and I had to quickly swipe them off the pages of my book and set

they made the mountains and tended the trees most unfortunately there was no pesticide for humans then just as there is not one now

there are many things I don't like about my body the most of it is that I can not cut out the feelings you left haunted in my skin so many years later there are waking moments when I still feel them no matter how deep I may carve the touch of your disgusting hands on me remain and it's not fair. . .