falling through time
Apr. 1st, 2009 02:01 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
kyrin When you finally got up to leave, it pleased you when you realized that even when your body was cold, the keys that were in your pocket all this while are warm, like your heart, in the palm of your hand. And you are so glad to be alive.
The earth is ice cold behind your back, cool grass tickling the tiny exposed patch of skin where your shirt has ridden up, jeans never go high enough these days. But the sun is searing you on the other side, its warmth on your face and you suddenly feel like a pancake being cooked in reverse, defying all laws of physics. Loosen your muscles, lie there spreadeagled, clench and unclench your fists, take apart your facades piece by piece. You try to find you amidst all the noise in your head, like downtown on a Thursday, college night, raucous and ridiculous. Your fingers are getting cold, but they are always cold. You've got music in one ear - this Japanese singer whose voice you think is freedom and his name, like stars, you think is beautiful. The wind is in the other ear, and you wonder and wonder what it is trying to say to you when it spreads the clouds thin across the blue of your vision. Perhaps when the clouds move across the sun, the world is putting its hand across its eyes, shading itself from the brightness that is you, so much like what you do when you tilt your head up and the swell of the sun catches you by surprise. You feel insignificant in the face of nature, like you think you should. It scares you, so you close your eyes and watch the shapes shift and swim, and you think it is like you are watching yourself from the inside, like you are watching yourself through the lenses of a microscope and what you are belongs in a petri dish. You wish someone were beside you at this moment in time, because you would share your deepest fear, your fear of fear and everything else, but you would also share your greatest happiness, even though you aren't sure what it is because you think there will always be something better. You would run fingers over their hands and touch the web between their fingers and be silent. Where did you come from, and where will you go? Are you happy? You think it is harder to be happy than to be sad or angry. The grass smells good an inch from your face, and you wonder about the smell of fertilizer that you found repulsive on your walk home - you wonder what had to die to give you life.
I am happy to be alive.
that you haven't found the time To open up your mind And watch the world spinning gently out of time Feel the sunshine on your face It's in a computer now Gone to the future, way out in space Blur - Out of Time |
The earth is ice cold behind your back, cool grass tickling the tiny exposed patch of skin where your shirt has ridden up, jeans never go high enough these days. But the sun is searing you on the other side, its warmth on your face and you suddenly feel like a pancake being cooked in reverse, defying all laws of physics. Loosen your muscles, lie there spreadeagled, clench and unclench your fists, take apart your facades piece by piece. You try to find you amidst all the noise in your head, like downtown on a Thursday, college night, raucous and ridiculous. Your fingers are getting cold, but they are always cold. You've got music in one ear - this Japanese singer whose voice you think is freedom and his name, like stars, you think is beautiful. The wind is in the other ear, and you wonder and wonder what it is trying to say to you when it spreads the clouds thin across the blue of your vision. Perhaps when the clouds move across the sun, the world is putting its hand across its eyes, shading itself from the brightness that is you, so much like what you do when you tilt your head up and the swell of the sun catches you by surprise. You feel insignificant in the face of nature, like you think you should. It scares you, so you close your eyes and watch the shapes shift and swim, and you think it is like you are watching yourself from the inside, like you are watching yourself through the lenses of a microscope and what you are belongs in a petri dish. You wish someone were beside you at this moment in time, because you would share your deepest fear, your fear of fear and everything else, but you would also share your greatest happiness, even though you aren't sure what it is because you think there will always be something better. You would run fingers over their hands and touch the web between their fingers and be silent. Where did you come from, and where will you go? Are you happy? You think it is harder to be happy than to be sad or angry. The grass smells good an inch from your face, and you wonder about the smell of fertilizer that you found repulsive on your walk home - you wonder what had to die to give you life.
Thick as thieves the last of leaves In the winter sun Holding fast this freezing branch Is home to us Step, step right over the line And onto borrowed time When it's life, not waiting to die Waiting to divide to divide A Fine Frenzy - Borrowed Time |
I am happy to be alive.
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no subject
Date: 2009-04-02 12:39 pm (UTC)