You need to upgrade your Flash Player To View This Content
Rate Me
0.00
0 points / 0 people
About Me
Time and distance traveled seem like nothing to me now as the sun grows small and fall off my rearview mirror. Nothing holds a place for long and it's time for me to move. The state of my mind is a dulled question, a lustful youth determined for satisfaction that one only dreams for. The difference is that I follow my dreams. My dreams are my future; no matter how long that future of mine will be. I wake up with a stale dry mouth. My eyes are blurry, solid objects are blended together in waves and swirls of faded colors and grays. Staggering to the bathroom mirror I look up into the eyes, grey eyes, loving eyes, deserted eyes of my own reflection. The same body I see every morning, yet how can I see the same thing at different times if a living being is not a constant? Is linear time a lie? Are we ourselves a lie? I ask these questions every morning to the one in the mirror, and every morning no response is given. The lips don�t move unless my lips move. The eyes don�t scan unless my eyes scan. As the hot steam from the shower fills the small bathroom and my image becomes blurry and distorted as on a waking moment. With water pouring white noise I stand in tranquility, a silent meditation in which my thoughts scream and pierce my own ears. Every morning these screams yell the same thing, �The only way to truly understand a person is to be that person. And still to be that person doesn�t mean we know who we are.� All my life I have been a spectator, watching others, predicting outcomes, and analyzing. Only more recently have I become interested in seeing myself as how an impartial spectator views me. A silhouette stands in the dark as silent leaves flutter and fall. A chilly fall wind, an early precursor of winter, flutters an orange scarf like a flag flying on top a pole. Dry leaves rustle as they traverse across the drearily lit parking lot. During the day his appearance becomes less of a wandering soul and more like a human being. His wardrobe is a composition of dark yet rich colors, oceans of blue, and forests of dark brown and lush green. Red scratches on his nose are eminent when his glasses slide down. Yet unnoticed to the eye, those who pass by him sense his warm aura of a sweet and spiced aroma. Those who take notice see stubble across his neck and jawbone. He glances at the onlookers who quickly turn away. He doesn�t mean to turn people away; he turns because it is a rarity that that people do take notice of him. He likes being noticed. Still, he never goes out of the way to be noticed. He never wears any bold and bright colors; only rarely does he become a participant in the lives of others. He reaches out to connect with others. Although he is able to, he never grasps hold of anyone willing to lend a hand. He is held in a net of security by his own procrastination. He is not restrained in a procrastination of time, where each second is born, each second dies, and another second follows and lives its predecessor�s legacy. He is bound to a procrastination of giving up what is known to the life of a stranger. Am I arrogant? Am I ignorant? No, I am a spectator, as I watch people below arrive and enter buildings in the perpetual morning sun. BLOOD FALLS FROM THE FINGERTIPS OF YOUNG LOVERS IN THE COLDEST OF WINTER NIGHTS. ARMS EMBRACE ONE ANOTHER AND HANDS GRASP ON THE BACK GROPING BOTH SKIN AND CLOTHING. A HEAD LIES NESTLED ON THE OTHERS SHOULDER. LIPS GENTLY KISSING THE OTHERS NECK. PATTERNS IN HEART BEATS POUNDING OUT AND TRAMPLING OVER ITSELF IN AN ONGOING STRUGGLE TO PUSH BLOOD THROUGHOUT THE BODY. HEY! If you want to text me just ask for my number :)
Likes
love, fun playing, music,cycling, walking in the dark, kissing, concerts, SUSHI, cute girls, photography, concerts, playing guitar, writing songs with my friends, driving hiking, road trips, film, my synth,
Dislikes
intolerance to lifestyles, hate, war,teasing with nothing in return ; ) , being alone
Favorite Music
Indie, Rock, Alt Rock, Techno (dubstep, hardstyle, and industrial)
ADD FRIEND
ADD FAVORITE
ADD TO SHITLIST
ADD TO CULT
BLOCK USER
REPORT USER
