As days fly by and words are written on paper while the thoughts move too fast, I seem to be stuck in an illusion that I have bred over time.
An illusion that has no escape nor end.
When I thought I could see everything as clearly as possible and could make no mistake, my thoughts whirl faster and faster and I am faced with truthful illusions that stop my mind from moving on. When every thought and action is possessed by the thought of a person who was, is and might always just be an illusion, the mind plays tricks that we pay heed to.
Believing that they are right, I think and toss. Restless and listless; Confused and Torn; what is this? This whirling emotion that encompasses one person and one person alone. The person who sometimes doesn't acknowledge that I might actually be here and willing to listen and heed; sing and dance; cry and laugh; write and think; with him.
I wait and ponder. Days consumed by the lightening of the past and heaviness of those words. Days spent in wonderment on whether or not we can be friends. Just friends.
Telling myself that it is not important is easy; exercising such a thought is hard. Harder than hard.
But the voice that speaks through is beyond brilliant. The advantage of such thoughts are the words that flow through from my mind, through my pen and onto my paper. Words hidden deep in me, so deep that only he could bring them out.
For which I thank him and his very being; my mind and it's puzzle; the circumstance and it's dire consequences.
-- Flow and cry
The paper is a book
That shows how the mind works.
The illusion is the stream
That's filled with ink
It sings and prances
In a circle into which we can sink.
I think and dwell;
Laugh and cry;
And though I wonder where you are,
My thoughts are clear and my soul is ready to fly.