They are gone, dreams drifting on a wisp of smog curling down the freeway. Smiling hazel eyes, a laugh fades into distance, a holographic memory across a room. I want to kick myself for remembering. Kick myself.
It's brooding, it's...not leaving the past behind...a past that lied to me, I lied to myself...
The shining river of grooved pavement rattles rhythmically conjuring a memory of a burgundy hoodie and a dark brown head bent over a pencil...
...lied to myself...
You'd think I'd learn a lesson about reality, after once or twice. But over and over like this...there is no hope, no excuse for this strange insanity. Romantics are the curse of the earth.
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Past
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07
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Aug
(10)
- Ride #2
- Homeless
- I stand outside the window let the ash rain downI ...
- If one gets out of life what one puts into it, whi...
- They are gone, dreams drifting on a wisp of smog c...
- Anniversary
- 9,200 miles on the blue wedgie-thing that doesn't ...
- I have a bad feeling about this, this whole thing ...
- I love old metal like I love old leather boots. I...
- *flop* The jacket and gloves go down on the seat, ...
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Aug
(10)
Paths
- tasik
- In my life of labor and endless searching for connections, I sometimes pause to muse over the people I love, the natural and artificial world around me, and the ideas that provoke my imagination or ire.
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