whats inside

separated but near by

Sunday, March 20, 2005
iron maiden: day three

in my mind, it is already a monday.

i see myself looking out the thick glass at a world of black and white. there would be rain. and there would be a thousand umbrellas—a sea of them—ebbing like tide, touching the city's unforgiving concrete shore with fragile fingers. a thousand umbrellas floating above pedestrian lanes, walking away from street corners, running towards buildings with yawning holes for mouths that swallow men and women at nine in the morning and spit them back out with vehemence at five in the afternoon.

but then this world is not to be. not yet. not until tomorrow. a life you give birth to in your mind is no easier than the real thing.in my mind, this wet world easily disintegrates like a portentous term of endearment, like an imagined reality. but some things, imagined or not, end. and when they do, the loss is never imagined—it is always real. loss is real. it boxes itself up and keeps itself in the shelf of your heart, labeled neatly in huge, bold letters. for posterity, maybe. for those years to come, when maybe (just maybe) you would want to sift through those good old days and remember what it was like when you were whole, yet strangely torn in two.

but today, as the sun sets behind an unequivocal horizon of understanding, nothing means more than it should. this is just me on one side, fictional sky-tears on the other and a big, endless window in between.

i rode north at 8:30 PM

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