Bar, in the corner, by myself. I'm glad I tip well, they know to leave me alone. I hate people... I even hate listening to them talk. But I can't wear my headphones because my stupid aux chord broke inside my fucking phone. I'm pretty sure I still give off a I'm not Interested vibe.
I've talked to Benga two days in a row. Always interesting. I think I'm sleeping on the beach tonight. I don't know why sleeping in the sand and dirt are the only times I feel at home. I'm not even sure why I leave my house sometimes.
I wonder if the land of the unknown thinks about me in the same way I think about him. Like our auras have somehow intertwined and he finds himself daydreaming of me. While I doubt it, he still causes a stirring in my soul. A what if? I catch myself telling myself that it's a dream too big to dream. I believe in Invisable things, and contemplating in that realm, nothing is impossible. I wonder if he's tired of living so big. Exhausted from living a dream, fantasizing about how simple things could be. I wonder if he catches himself wondering about me. Reading this, my thoughts and interpretations of his simple sentences, if I read him as easily as a book. And then he finds his soul stirring on the what if simple magic. What if I did sing loudly to him just driving down the road? What if I just did wake up and make him breakfast, and wait for him to come home from a late night at work, just to rub every stress out of him gently until he falls asleep snoring. I wonder if he imagines smoking cigars, drinking scotch, listening to vinyl until we passionately make love on the piano, or couch, or kitchen island.
I've never imagined myself in a life such as his, but I tend to get lost not in the glamor of what he embodies, but him, himself, who he is, what he actually carries in himself.
Love has never been my friend, but after spending months pretending and including myself in his life, I don't mind my daydreams getting the best out of me.
Isn't he tired? I could give him rest. I could give him more than what money could buy. I could love him. Even though he plays it safe. I could be the danger he craves. I could love him, not his things, but actually him... And we could lay, intertwined, against the heavens. I could be his chaos and his calm.
I could be his world, and he, he could be mine. In the moments of serenity I see us in, I ponder, can he taste it too? How do I talk to God and ask him to make such ass thing happen? To part everything we both have ever known and leave us there for one another? We could be happy. I could erase every wrinkle and fill them with laughter. Anything else seems dulling now. That my imagination doesn't want to carry this mundane, and only wishes to whisper to his soul.
Is God big enough? I have always believed he was, but I never dreamt a love, or a life like this, and every other sense ever, has failed me.
So now I suppose, I leave it to the heavens. And hope he reads and wishes like me.
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