Every girl.

It was written in the sand sometime long ago
It was never meant to be
The pink gold of the summer evening
The scented night mist
The heat rising off the now cooling sea
Just as the moon made his appearance
She was sitting there by herself
Half lit in the moonlight
She thought that pain was just an euphemism for life
It meant nothing to be bought or sold
She would rise again like a sphinx, she would scale the flight of the mighty and bold
She was every girl
She thought it was only written in the sand
It was never meant to be
It was the feeling of shimmering silver dust raining from the sky
The feeling of being so alive
The transcendent belief in after life
The cry of the possibilities.

Maybe I dreamed it all up...

Sitting up in my window staring at the dusty street. The air was thick always, even late at night no matter what season. The hum of the traffic was also a constant, yes even late at night. I used to sit on the ledge of my bedroom window and look out into the distance, where I knew the sea was. Yeah I had my own slice of the ocean view that I could see in the day time and hear its gentle writhing at night. I imagined the ocean was changing sides as it slept. I loved that ocean, in a city full of people, where vagrants set up home absolutely on every piece of land they could find, the ocean was untouchable, open space straight into eternity. The ocean, my ocean, was also available to one and all to stroll, to walk, to simply space out as I often did on the beach. It had a distinct smell, salty, sharp and desperation, well may be it was just me the desperation part.

It was a love and hate thing I had going on with that wretched city. I loved it as that was all I ever knew. The city was like a big bad wolf, an abusive lover, and I knew how to live with it. I also knew where to find comfort and when to run and where to hide if the lover turned nasty and cruel. After all it was home. On some level you accepted what it did to you, it made you feel tough, it made you grow up and it did all that by crushing all your dreams, one dream at a time. But no sir not my dreams, I learned then not to dream at all, you could imagine things, but on a purely external level like good things could never happen to you. But mainly you watched on taking some sick pleasure in all that pain.Yeah the city made a masochist out of you.

I wanted out. As far back as I can remember, I wanted out. I would imagine Utopia (a place like paradise, full of light and love). A lush green haven, to heal my soul inside and out. A place to lick my wounds and set up camp. Where I could dream to my hearts content. I wanted to breath deep lung full of pure air, I wanted to sit on a sea shore that had crystalline waters that resembled life and not tears. I wanted to smell hope. I wanted it all. I would look back out of my window at the city of doom, as if from out looking in and envisioned what the end of the world would look like, it would probably look like this city on any given day.

My city, I am my city, I am a masochist and I cannot help it. I am now where I longed to be, I am in the Utopia I imagined all along. I was so sure I would never make it. The city wouldn't let me go I thought to myself, but it did, but did it really? I carry it in here where my soul lives, I am cynical, I look all around me and grab at sunshine, not believing that this will last. I breath like a greedy child, I take in pure air like I cannot trust I will get my next lungful. I take picture after picture after picture of crystalline waters and crushed pearl sands, just in case I go back into the grey desperation and these pictures are all I have as a proof that once I was here, in this Utopia and I did not just dream it all up.

Magic of Ordinary Days

Spring days as they melt into Summer days,
Huge bright moon at night hanging low over the lake
and fragrant blooms everywhere
Nothing is out of ordinary and still it is all magical

Cherry Tree

Looking at the sky through cherry blossoms, the nature's rose tinted glasses

through the lacy pink, at the blue sky

Looking at the world through cherry blooms

everything is better then

the spring is here, its back

the winter wasn't bad though,

anyway the newness is welcome, the spring is here

the cherry tree is blooming and juicy wonderful words are simply forming, dripping and pooling around the subconscious

The tree doesn't have any leaves at all its all pink, all flowers all girlish and crazy like happiness

like hope, like love, like faith

Looking at the dreams through cherry branches laden and raining flowers

they are dreams themselves

All sweet and fragrant and nostalgic

First time I saw one, a flowering cherry tree that is

It drove me into childish glee to just look at it

Looking at the yesterdays through cherry memory

so young, so fresh, cherry lips yours and mine

Young us feeling our way through each step of new discovery

House

Imagine living here in this house surrounded by wild flowers and thistle
Imagine the sound of the rustling wind and aroma of the sea..
Hot damn yeah, its next to the sea and the mountains and the foggy, salty decadence of simple complexity thats beauty.

I imagine living here as an old old woman, being as wise as the old sea outside. The house will be filled with herb pouches and potpourri, that makes the inside of this house smell exotic like the outside does. I will make hot soups for meals and type out stories from my youth. I will laugh at my regrets and smile at love lost and found along the many paths I took.
I will look outside the window when the wind howls out and the house shakes and listen to the words of the beating tides. The petals flying from wild flower garden will cast magical spells that will carry me beyond imagination, where surreal becomes real.
How can a house say so many things, how can a structure have such a pull? Every time I come here it is like the house calls out, as if it knows me from somewhere or is that some time?? Or may be in the far off future it will get to know me? Is it possible to fall in love with places, houses, wild flower gardens, ocean, salty wind and the mystic fog? I believe that to be true and dear house I'm in love with you....

Intoxicated.

The taste and texture it dances on your tongue, Its like sipping the color, the burgundy red of the wine. And then there is the white one, so tame and uneventful, the taste just doesn't register with me, I don't feel the excitement of drinking the color.

The whole act is crazy magical, the uncorking, the teeny sweet sound of pouring the celestial liquid color, red red red of the mystical red wine. Then swirling it around in the sparkling glass and holding it up in the air into the light to see the color, and anticipate the taste, the taste of the color burgundy.

And as if the whole sensory carnival isn't enough, there is the woman who is pouring it, she is beautiful, with a musical voice as she says things like "fruity, with a hint of spice and velvety overtones marked by sensual smoky base", you had no clue a moment ago what any of that meant, let alone in one single sentence, but right then you want to understand as you sip from the color burgundy.  

The vineyard is on the mountain top and the air is mountain fresh air, the smell is that of fruity spicy quality and you don't need the actual wine to get intoxicated. You feel the color burgundy inside and out and feel light as a kite and flying high as one too.

Haven.

While you were gone
I just lay there staring at the walls and the ceiling
The void, the vacuum that was everything when you weren't in it

Feeling denied of the life force itself
Adrift on an empty ocean of nothing
While you were gone I recited songs of sorrow
Songs so painful they they never made sense

You didn't ask for much
You never expected anything
You liked me for all I was and you loved me more for my flaws
It doesn't seem like asking a lot from anyone
But that's where it is so deceptive
The seductive high to be loved like this, its addictive

While you were gone I realized
Life as I knew it
Existed because you made it possible
To take one day at a time and weather it
You created a haven, for a run away soul like mine

From a battle that went on too long
For wars that were never meant to be won
For nightmares that were more than real
While you were gone I wondered, if you would return at all
While you were gone I thanked you anyway for getting me this far