As the sun shone brightly on his morning he soaked up the soft warmth he received from the ultraviolet rays. In his personal bath of shine a zephyr moved over him and blew over his face.
It was a good morning.
A kind morning. A morning for him.
He was Irish, he could deal with something being wrong for the rest of his life. Not that he loved that fact about himself either. But, fuck. . . was grateful for the strength.
The trust was there. The heart was willing. The mind was optimistic.
But it wasn't up to him. And as he sat like bitch and thought like a chick he laughed to himself and knew he wasn't slick. About this and this and this only.
Okay. . . He was ready.
True, it wasn't overcast, but it was one he felt a peace in that he knew he needed to bask in. And think specific thoughts. . .
His blood was rushing as he contemplated what was to come next. To be honest, he was hopeful. . .
A regularity of which he could go to bed and rise from sleep feeling well and fine about?
A doorway to a back-n-forth of a lovely nature, something he deserved as well as the other.
Even more the other. . .
For the pains of being alone without a force of peace and stability was no place to be.
He was tired of the fear.
He was tired of the missing.
He was tired of the nature of his plight.
He knew there was a great chance to finally make it. Make it. Make it. He had opened himself back up to an element he never thought he'd feel the gentle embrace of again. Ever. Out of the darkness came the light as he felt himself spring to life.
But, now that it was back, was this simply a game of waiting until it left as swiftly as it came? As swiftly as the wind was carried on the wings of the sun that morning.
Would he get his answer? Would he receive a response? Would it come to him softly or go to him with clarity.
The wind only provided him but it's simple music and sun merely smiled at him.
This risk of falling back into a blackness of inescapable torture and character deconstruction was his to bare and his only. And out if his control.
It was a good morning.
A kind morning. A morning for him.
He was Irish, he could deal with something being wrong for the rest of his life. Not that he loved that fact about himself either. But, fuck. . . was grateful for the strength.
The trust was there. The heart was willing. The mind was optimistic.
But it wasn't up to him. And as he sat like bitch and thought like a chick he laughed to himself and knew he wasn't slick. About this and this and this only.
Okay. . . He was ready.
True, it wasn't overcast, but it was one he felt a peace in that he knew he needed to bask in. And think specific thoughts. . .
His blood was rushing as he contemplated what was to come next. To be honest, he was hopeful. . .
A regularity of which he could go to bed and rise from sleep feeling well and fine about?
A doorway to a back-n-forth of a lovely nature, something he deserved as well as the other.
Even more the other. . .
For the pains of being alone without a force of peace and stability was no place to be.
He was tired of the fear.
He was tired of the missing.
He was tired of the nature of his plight.
He knew there was a great chance to finally make it. Make it. Make it. He had opened himself back up to an element he never thought he'd feel the gentle embrace of again. Ever. Out of the darkness came the light as he felt himself spring to life.
But, now that it was back, was this simply a game of waiting until it left as swiftly as it came? As swiftly as the wind was carried on the wings of the sun that morning.
Would he get his answer? Would he receive a response? Would it come to him softly or go to him with clarity.
The wind only provided him but it's simple music and sun merely smiled at him.
This risk of falling back into a blackness of inescapable torture and character deconstruction was his to bare and his only. And out if his control.
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