So it's 3:22 a.m. and I'm sittin wit a feelin... It's crazy how we fantasize about a life with no worries, no ills, not stress, and no muhfuggin bills... and then we wake up to the realities of wasshappenin in our streets. The realities of our past that so eagerly and forcefully greets... our presence/our presents... the gift(s). It was her. It still is a her. The gift. The shore that my tide washes upon. Each time I withdraw, I leave trails of me lingerin... trails that leave me sittin wit a feelin. Each time my ocean washes upon her shore I stretch out and push forward with a strength that inches me closer than before. The gravitational pull attaching itself to her soul. pulling. and then I retreat. I retreat and sit with this feelin.
It's funny how your mind works itself up and tries to distinguish truth from falsehood and rational from irrational, and right from wrong, and what it means to just sit wit a feelin... Sometimes I wonder if any of this shit makes sense or is it just an opportunity for me to make goulash out of words. I dunno.Maybe someday soon I'll try and frame my communication.
Hmmmmm?
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