sunday morning

a relative drifts out of the frame, lines of the street. the week beginning is a week ending for me. these are my spaces, but too much space drowns the definition.

i haven’t slept in weeks, i’m so tired of sleeping.

let us apply, that is why we relate. relation leads to application, forge an iron bond and shape a direction. for both people in a relationship of human connection, we must look forward and back–a reservation and an allowance if you will. these must not be read as abstracts, vague as they are; they are both beautiful and concrete. and vague.

trust in this; there is no negativity.

the road outside sings, a bleached summer sky parades its apprehension, it forms an arch above the city, as though placed under tension at its invisible, impossible ends. the street dips away slightly, offering the privilege of green parkland, just for a second, until i look away and then i am back in the room (of course), the room with its natural associations. sounds from next-door, straining to hear stirs of a melody that don’t exist, chasing dreams from outlet to aspect. a radio in another room plays to itself, playing a song i know, necessarily. the radio always does. this is known as the art of conclusion.

a drift of conversation from the street, secured upon a thermal, enters my window. the words are broken and full of static and diesel. i want to hear them, i can’t, speak louder. i must hear you!

indecipherable overhearing! i shall construct what they were saying for myself, for that is what i would have done regardless: you must love the moment, not the person, because people change.

an elderly couple walk across the street. they look up and down the road, before crossing, not saying a word but united in movement and position, not saying a word. i cannot help but link them in my thoughts; they must exist for each other, surely? they are still not saying a word, not even looking at each other.

you must love the moment, not the person, because people change.

they really do.