summertime sadness

But the things we really want to say they cannot be said

Because

They are absurd…kinda

What if I told you I’d make you fly?

I can, really.

You unhinged my wings, I let you, they had been coming unhinged for sometime…

But you opened them wholly, only to leave me adrift in the air, alone.

I won’t ask why, I think I know, but I’d rather pretend.

Pretending – a state of bliss, where body and mind are not in unison, mind takes over matter and makes things matter that shouldn’t…and that really don’t… or at least can’t.

And so I don’t wonder why, nor do I cry in shame…

These tears are a different form, a realization, an understanding, a longing for something that cannot be said…

I’m not usually at a loss for words, but you cut my tongue into a million pieces…

All good things come to an end they say, but what if it wasn’t said?

What if the fat lady has not sung, yet?

I see many morbidly obese people singing, and I’m not quite sure they’re the ones I should be listening for, where is this quintessential voluptuous lady?

They say, when you know you’ll know…

I always know, the problem is no one else seems to…