You know how sometimes things aren't going really great but you are happy anyway? Things go wrong; sometimes you are totally overwhelmed. You just want to sleep because thats the only time your mind isn't running at one hundred miles an hour and your dreams are the only place that things are exactly how you want them to be? But at the same time, you just love life. You see just one beautiful thing all week among hundreds of ugly things, but all you can remember is that one beautiful thing? You wake up in the morning and you decide that you are happy you are awake. This is one of those times. I guess that isn't called happiness- maybe its called joy.
I spent four evenings by the sea this week. If you have never had to clean off your glasses from the salty spray, then you have no idea what you are missing. I'm one of those people who sits alone on a bench for hours laughing to myself and watching the sunset. (My parents say I dress like a homeless person so you can just imagine what some people must think!!) I'm always the last person to leave, even after all the color fades out of the sky. I'm always afraid that if I leave before its completely dark, I'll miss something.
I take good pictures of the sunset, but not great ones. And its disappointing.
I've never actually let anyone read one of my whole poems before. But I have one that kinda explains how I feel right now. I'm not sure that the poem is very good, and anyone could rip it apart. But I guess thats the only way to find out if its good or not.
Watercolors spilling, staining.
Against the water black.
Captivated, I am unable to look away,
Yet this is my escape.
Face to face with the master painter,
I am asking-
Why is it never as brilliant,
Never as lovely,
In the well-worn photographs?
Black silhouettes
Each with its own golden edges.
Seeming to punch holes in the impenetrable display.
Wounding glimmers of hope.
They are not who I am watching for.
They are not who I am waiting for.
What am I looking for?
What am I waiting for?
Yet I am waiting,Darkness attempts to steal my hope,
Sand will not forfeit its warmth to the night.
Bury it deep.
I am reaching to take your hand,
But my arms are bound to my side by time.
But for how long?
Before time is something to be desired, not dreaded
Before the memories.
Before the well-worn photographs.