nude bones

noodles by the pool.
herbs from gardens around back.
it feels like the fall. 

she gives me presents with her presence alone.
— jack johnson

here come the days of pure emotion. illogical feelings of miss. sadness without reason, when you sit and think about it. i know it will be okay. this is knowledge. however, it sometimes gets caught in the undertow of feeling.

some aspirin for the jaw, three to four semi-lucid dreams, and a quick set of hours of sleep later, home is coming. a tea with brown sugar and two cracks of the neck. foxes in fiction. the lighting, as though it’s four. satisfaction.

eerie. excessively.
i had to leave. 

i am in the library. i am here in the library, turning the light switch on and off that is meant for this specific worn, black leather chair, because i don’t know where to begin. i do not know where to begin, and this is not wrestling. i feel overwhelmed with all possible sentences to be read and concepts to be digested. big pictures, details. times new roman periods. black text. pure silence. i am still. and i cannot bring myself to open anything, because it is all perfect, and sometimes touched. virgin. a room of them. my breath does not echo. there are people here with me, and yet, there is no person in sight. it feels almost haunted. almost murderous, this room. i keep expecting someone to come about. i am playing games with myself. there are butterflies in my gut.

a run this morning, longer than usual. in and around grant park, possibly another park, possibly not, and once around buckingham fountain. it all goes by so quickly when it’s all so new and inviting.
a day tour of chicago, double decker, followed by t-shirts and nature valley bars at walgreen’s, then wraps and soups and freshening up.
off to the art institute on my own, while they take a tour of wrigley field, followed by beef at lawry’s, and ordering in a movie from the smushy beds, with tea that i just found.

chicago is wind.
and a billion sirens.
and this mushy bed.

an hour behind,
time becomes irrelevant
and breakfast is gone.

i make an attempt
to carry with me some sort
of routine from home.

i run, i yoga.
i eat, relatively well.
then, exploration.

but all the while,
heavy exploration, and
walking in the wind. 

Ultralite Powered by Tumblr | Designed by:Doinwork