forlorn and never forgotten


Chipped paint and rusted metal, discarded on backwoods roads. We wandered about through an amusement park comprised of the forlorn and forsaken, cameras in hand, piles of busted glass and tetanus-inducing nails underfoot, wary of being caught. A sign, spray painted on the side of water tower, declares our imminent death at trespassing, and we wonder aloud at the likelihood.

Someday, yes, but not today.


There’s something magical about forgotten places. The broken down, the decrepit, the rotten, the abandoned. I relate to these places, am drawn to them. The years I spent feeling alone, the forced wanderlust, the memory, so sharply etched into my psyche, of feeling, at the core of my soul, how I would never fit in. I was a star-shaped peg trying to fit into a hole without shape, and laying my tired eyes upon old places soothed a soul aged with the weight of the world I felt I had to carry.

Months later, today, grey clouds hang low, and my soul hangs softly amongst them, and it seems fitting for the deeply contemplative meandering of a mind somewhat shaken and most certainly sad. The humidity in the air wraps somber arms around me, and that day, those moments, surface back to me in a melancholy melody that sings, somehow, to awaken the happiness inside me.

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There’s been a romance to my days lately that tastes like life on my tongue. I’m letting it sink sweetly into my soul, trusting that grace inherent in these star-soaked moments is a beauty meant to be enjoyed and flinging my arms open wide to embrace more of it.

As this new year slides into the present day I find myself sifting through my dreams in a mindful, meandering way. Some have shifted from floating feathers of potential to present tense, and I touch them with gratitude in my heart.  Others still fly free, and I regard them with a new clarity.  And always, always, I am creating new ones forged from the sunsets of yesterday and the bright skies of tomorrow.

road to somewhere

Dirty footmarks on the windshield. Forgotten socks sitting forlorn on the bed back home. Super-novas gazing down with wide eyes as miles of forest fly by. Hot desert sun reminiscent of summer fooling us into thinking that the heat will linger. Beers grasped in chalk-covered hands that grow cold with the descending night.  Rambling on by the fireside: climbing, aliens, our mutual affection for well-made cookies. Falling asleep under shallow winter skies that rise heavy and pregnant with a thousand different dreams. Forgetting that time exists because the days are marked only by sunset, sunrise and dinner eaten out of dusty pans. Well-told stories and off-key songs. Melted soles of shoes from prolonged proximity to the fire. Hair’s a mess and you don’t care, we laugh it off and each day is as perfectly imperfect as the last.

I think I need to go on a road trip.

we are feathers floating free. . .

Eyes caught across a crowded room, and a flash of understanding. Or maybe I imagine it. I send myself to do backflips in my head, spin around, run away and then return to where I stand, unmoving and frozen in sea of swimming souls. My existence is steady, slow moving, all thudding heart and deep breaths drunk down. I do a cartwheel, when our eyes collide once more, and I am once a lioness, a komodo dragon, a raven with ink-black wings spread wide. A litany of thoughts cycle redundant as I tumble head over heels down a rabbit hole of dreams converged. Wisps of dark tendrils creep out of those depths you call eyes to tempt me and resonate in the hollows of a heart I had for a moment thought empty. I see now it was merely wounded. Anticipation surfaces as dense vibrations ring through limbs heavy and tense, and feeling the ground on which I stand is difficult.


Again, we see each other, and the stars scatter recklessly, half-drunk on their own brilliance and you smile because you know that we’re alone in this sea of souls. We are feathers floating on a breeze, your eyes speak, and my feet come free and I step towards you, asking only one thing. Where to?