seattle night

I started writing a few hours ago, it was really dry so I stopped.

I feel fairly uncreative, though rather inspired.

There is nothing like traveling to get me into new space (hehe).

Melissa is studying for a few more minutes so can I say...

I find the people more beautiful, the steps easier to take, the stories more scrumptious.

I find the time to center, to breathe as the monk says, breathe in and know I am breathing in.

I find the music lifting, tugging, 

I find the coffee irresistible, and the beds launch me from sleep to wakefulness like catapults, slam me into new days.

I find my old notions easily melt away, castle walls fallen, but my connections do not, sometimes they become even more accented, the stories and conversations come to mind while I walk, while I read, while I look at the sky I see eyes and lips and smell scents long forgotten.

I crave more, yet often feel fulfilled. 

I desire more, yet feel contented to enjoy new moments.

I recognize things I've forgotten, painful moments, joyful moments, astonished moments, they all flow in and out... 

but I do not feel creative, I feel like a passenger on a vessel that is dancing, I feel like the smell on the wind dispersing in the nostrils of many, scattering into various memories, pulled a thousand directions, I feel like the touch of lovers, intentional, nervous, sensual, longing.

I feel, that's it, I feel it all and can't peg any of it down long enough to call it an argument. Its not logic, but listful, and as such hard to believe in at all.

Hard to know what will come of this...

this is the first post in weeks...    

hope it was vaguely satisfying