The Sky is Broken

Created: 05/26/2010 04:33:15 AM

I'm sitting alone tonight, listening to outpourings of Moby, remembering the way my world was more than ten years ago. I was wandering in a sad, hollow cloud. The rain seemed to pour endlessly all summer, the evening streetlights reflected on the dark asphalt, making long yellow fingers incessantly pointing in my direction. The night air was so thick with warmth, it fell heavy in my lungs. Life was flowing into my senses in a way that only a wandering soul could perceive. I was a walking tourist with no distractions, taking in the world like an alien in search of human desire--the unseen emotions that flow from our organic headlights out into the florescent skies at dusk, whispering themselves back through the midnight rustle of oak trees.

The whispering has never stopped since those days. There is no break, nothing mute, no winter from these voices, the background hummmmm of spirits seeking refuge. And I, like a tiny ant still wandering, feeling virtually powerless, would like, just for a while, for my ears to be like the leaves of these deciduous forests. Let them wither and fall away, to give my heart a rest.