I usually solve problems by letting them devour me.
With every single poem Bukowski
With every type on his typewriter
A certain commonality
More than communication
More than revealing myself to you
Rather ourselves to you.
To depict an emotion through these lines of words
To let go of a distress that far too often haunts a lonely soul
It is in these letters that these experiences reside far after they have been encountered in ones lifetime.
Sometimes the feelings lingers though the words have already been written.
When my voice, when my sound will feel volumptious and filled with confidence and the lucious undertones of strenght will reside by me as my presence invades your demeanor. When this resonance will be much too loud for you to bare. You will hear right through my chest, this beating this pounding of a heart of a sound that never ceased to cry out louder as it can and will. When I do not sound like me as I am today as I will be tomorrow. When.
Sometimes you want to describe something yet the words aren’t part of your vocabulary, your language, your experience. And writing is not enough to describe this feeling, this emotion. How am I supposed to share this unknown something if I do not know what I wanting you to feel?
For all I know the only known future is death and it is the only sure thing we can barely speak about. The certainty of uncertainty lies beyond our awakening lifetime, a moment of grace and a time that seems to be so distant yet with time some may want her close, so close as though you can chose to be with her, for when times seem to make us vulnerable instead of fighting, we die. We choose death over life sometimes because life seems to be so unbearable. the very breath of our existence is not measured upon a lifetime but a moment and for that we are mistaken. Sure there are the wise and there are the happy. Though how are we supposed to harmonize and hold those who do not seek in this lifetime and a moment of death is their choice? Memento mori my love, for this is what is made of us, our mortality that pushes us to feel and empathize one another for in my experience and in your experience together we grow as humanity. Full of nonsense and cockery this world has come to ,yet there are those who write and feel , those who get mad and learn, those who struggle and never let go. We are lucky to have a body that can rot, that can not and will not be preserved into immortality as that of which is not seen, Our bodies as clothing to the immortality that make of us. the mind and our thoughts remain immortal to the cosmos and far beyond we can ever reach within the next lightyears. Will we know soon enough, I don’t believe in a lifetime of certainty. I don’t want to live a moment, in all honesty I want my immortality to remain as it will be, ceasing to ever be this body remaining oblivious to the unseen nature of who I am and who I will be.
As you lay asleep next to me your body’s presence comforts me. The feeling of your cool breath on my face, invisible yet soothing as as you lay here by my side under theses sheets dreaming somewhere into another realm. This duality of your existence is bare to the presence of my being. I starred at you for some time now, grinding your teeth, clenching your jaw. how I want to hold you and comfort you in the same way as you to me. also wondering where could you really be right now. amnesia of your dreams for the odour of oneness erases your dreams. Your scent of cigarettes blending with your musky deodorant is something that is a part of my memory from here until she disintegrates somewhere between dark matter and forever. A captive of yourself unto me. a secret untold that only the universe will ever know. I love you, KP.
If whatever happens and I wake up with nothing but a memory of you, I will try to write as much as I can so as long as I live, the fear of a memory that has faded will no longer haunt my feelings, my life, my self. If I could run into you once again in a time we might no longer be. I’ll want to hold you into forever. To the kisses of tomorrow under these sheets of everlasting moments. It’s this feeling of wanting to live under homemade tents just because you know space is limited provided a proximity of closeness. That the tent might suddenly fall and become blankets to stay in for the rest of the night. To being children, careless of the world around us outside our tents, our soul, love that resides the space between us.
I wrote about you in my books without knowing who I was talking about but the definite nature of who I wanted you to be. I realise now how unrewarding that is as expectations fly high as we set this imaginary portrayals of what our potential mate might seem to be or how we picture them to be. Canto a mi mismo. I want to dream the dreams you dream and be with you for as long as I can, physically can. I have missed you my whole life and knowing you from within has killed me bits by bits. The only feeling I ever need would be you, love. Have I deceited myself? Have I missunderstood your need in my being? Have I gone really far without knowing where I was headed? you werent supposed to come knocking at my door so soon and now I am obliged to let myself be vulnerable at your feet. I acted in blind faith believing the possibility of time ahead of myself and by my own perception I was led to believe that love would never come as she did. I just wanted a brief held of hand. I want to be set free from myself with this love I have found either that be momentarily or forever.