short creations

The written word leaps off the page differently than my eyes have seen the light shine through them. If I imagine the jump from type to electron I listen to the contemplation of processes I imagined once in the night I knew to be long and dark for my own knowledge, the desire to complete connection. I think in the times in between, I act on more words than I ever thought I wouldn't know. The din of my feelings in reverse was overwhelming once I felt I had burst. The long moments of inaction were of a long trail I knew, variable animosity can be worse.

the freezing cold, people analyzing feelings

I walked like it was a march across the frozen lake of my days passed in isolation. It was the crisp breath on the air like a new way of feeling the water that I was bathed in one summer day. I'll listen to ducks I thought at one point, I'll listen to the eagles like I've known their language all my life. But once I start walking again the blood flows and I'm warmed to the knowledge of my peers leaving their own interests to find the place they knew before I lost the will to walk. I'll know the ways that I took were of the type that gives me reprieve from some distant memory. I'll listen to the air like it was blowing through the walls and whispering in the light of bright bulb. Once the days and nights have shelter they seem like they did when you listened to the spinning of disc above the hum of an electronic pulse. I take the knowledge of my desires as a new type of despair trumped by the interest in emotional connections, taken by the desire to know someone and fearing my own power to express how different I lost my personality in trying to know myself as that independent man, the one who didn't listen to the people trying to make you feel bad, but listening to how that made you feel about yourself, taking solace in your own self-esteem, the people who you knew were interested in making you feel better, listen to the knowledge of your past, listen to the types of praise you want to be, and act like you know that those days have not faded, be able to differentiate between yourself and the long distances you have traveled. One day doesn't leave everything up to your night, but it gives you the power to make a decision that should have been right. It may have changed you for the worse, it may have made you feel alive in ways that others might, but it won't give you strength to distance yourself from feelings, from the expression of yourself to others who want to be in your life. I'll remember feeling happy in the middle of the night, but it was fewer days than others who have given you their life, I distance myself from violent reproach but know how hard it can be to fight, when you listen to your farther leaves, your trunk gives you the pride. It became a snowy wonderland to many who love this life, the days and weeks of winter have not always been so bright. The sun reflects, and I have stopped to refract, I'm listening to myself type. I'd rather know who looks at me and has interest in living a life. I'll type once again, I'll be open to my life, I'll run in days, I'll walk in nights, but one day was cold and the sun still bright. I lost my breath one day long ago, and I'll lose it like I dreamed in some type of height. It is a day again to listen to a friend, and know how to give your life. The paths not always cleared, I lost myself in the lights, the color of the roads becoming darker once the night dims your interest in catching lost light. In the long paths found, there are new people aware of your rights, the fast new trapping of yourself in what you love about life. The long found knowledge of who you had been, how it made sense to your days, and the distance of sleepless nights, given to wanting contact with your human brothers, sisters more important was how you typed. It left my impression wanting, it left my knowledge imprecise, but still the teams of leaves, paper written, blank ones knowing who was right, the lost days you found less important, the new dreams about what promise would have meant to a new life. Still the imprecise distance from truth gives me a longer continuation of how important others are to a long life, and how long is the moment stretched to what is important in life. So I'll know what I meant and I'll know what actions were right, I'll know how different it is to be myself and I'll still be who I am tonight.