An Autumn Visit Pt. 2

The setting stands strong in my minds eye.

The air is crisp,
nothing is still.
The sun’s phases bring such change,
and as she moves into the pillar’s shade
tears well up.

She had been strong till 8:00 am,
awaking to the rise,
but the sun reminds her that he’s not here,
leaving only the empty cans and the bowls of tin
to echo his intoxicating touch.

I remember when things were different
When she would blush not knowing where to gaze,
and the way she peeled herself from his convertible.
That’s all gone now along with the waves and the stars we-
                                                          I’m sorry

Never mind
It’s not my place.
It never was.

I watched her change
and his smile turn to worry.
If only she could remember
to balance her desires.
She uses the stoppers to block what can’t be drained.
She tasted the fruit and tried to savor it
attempting to memorize each taste that touched her tongue.

“So what of her now?” you’ll ask me tomorrow.
I’ll tell you the same ‘till I forget.
For I remember when I was her, lost in perfection
In the air that was so crisp and the nothing that vibrated
with that which was forever still.

Please Hang Up And Try Again..

Do you ever pick up the phone, dial the number only to hear a constant dial tone? I feel that way about my Xanga. A meager attempt to connect and update with the people back home. It's no facebook, it's no creative blog. It's just my army green Xanga that always is a little more sticky than I think.

Do you remember the days when you would read my Xanga entries and know pretty much what I was talking about? Those were the days when everyone and their dog knew what was going on in my life. Yeah, those were the days. Writing was easier back then. I could carefully skew phrases and turn words, fooling with your understanding of what might have actually happened. And now I am presented with a challenge. People who read my Xanga aren't with me everyday. I can't just assume that you all can guess what's going on. Maybe that's why I have been so hesitant in writing. All I know is that to keep my Xanga alive and thriving I must be able to keep everyone who reads my lily pad colored page updated with my life factually as well as emotionally. But I must do that without the constant stream of boring stories and facts. The one thing that I like about my Xanga is that it has transformed from a preteen diary to an array of expressive entries; each one beautiful in their own quirky way. My Xanga made my writing what it is today and now it is time for the next step.

So, I'm at college, the next step. Everything's a bit harder. Everything is a bit rougher, tougher, and the bar set higher. Keeping touch, keeping everyone up to date, staying connected; it's all harder. You all know how hard it is to keep a conversation going online with me, so this is obviously going to be a challenge. May I ask for a little help? Keep me informed. Tell me when I need to call. Keep me in line. I'm going to need it because even after these two weeks I feel that I am already loosing touch. This is my attempt. My attempt at telling you how hard it is, telling you how hard it will be, and not to mention, my attempt at asking for help. Hey, it's better than a constant dial tone.