thursday's deliberations

There is a tempest brooding in me. I am a brooding lover, perhaps expendable, slowly becoming a vacant apparition of the subway. When will the eventual time come when I am superfluous? I’m too low to find my way, too high to wonder why.
Often I come to think that true happiness can never be achieved. It is out of the reach of the familiar mortality in all of us. The impossible state of happiness is a merciless enigma, one which we try in vain to achieve - be it by means of chemicals, prescription, hypnosis, calculation or pseudo pleasure-making. The human condition does not allow us to achieve true, pure, existential happiness, natural and unaltered. We always want more; such is our insatiable human desire for betterment.

This is the love that we’ve been working on. We’re going down and you can see it too. Love should be an encore! What of the intermission? Or, forbid, the curtain's call for the finale?
I am disinclined to confess that I am a fool to want you. Nothing but a silly little girl who tripped over her heart. As you walk away I look back and see you’ve turned your back. Your footsteps echo in the growing distance between us, leaving me watching you go. I stand under the chemical flood lights and concrete walls of the late night metro.

Tell me? If not the sun and moon rise in my eyes, but at least that my belief is your belief, or that my cheeks are warm to yours. My eyes are pools of recognition. So what would you like? What would you have of me? My hands face palms up. I’ll wait, but not for long.