Beads collected on water-leafs I need you to tell me if I am seeing this all wrong. Seems like there's no way that everything so unclear could be so sure so I am going to keep on assuming that these feelings of new are of good too. Were you there when I picked that flower today? 'Member, because I stopped to take off my shoe and walk on the carpet of petals left by the naked tree and then bent down to give my hands a chance to feel. Then I broke the pure white skin to watch a rush of brown soak through the wrinkles in the petal like blood through veins. Pealed the purple off too just to see if I could and then I brought it up to my face and pulled the air through my nose. I even felt the little droplets of scented water on my soft skin and it cooled me on the inside. Remember that? I can't imagine you wouldn't because I started talking really loud to you about then, asking you all sorts of question. Because it was then that I almost felt totally real, like a peice of beautiful creation that needed to live a little more and worry a little less. I kept on walking though and listening and trying really hard to figure out where all my thoughts were coming from. You speak so quiet sometimes I am not sure if it's you or the wind blowing in my ear.
If it is the wind, I still like it. I like all those things that touch me. I love skin, I love wind, I love words, I love you. Why is it that touching is so much better than all the others? Wasn't until I went ahead and touched my face I realized all those thoughts I was churning were about something more than nerves, cells, theories, religions, and trees. It's weird how sometimes I forget that without being simple I can never be and so I get stuck in a heap of material that feels a whole lot like spider webs; there enough to feel and walk into but absent enough to not be found. It's these spider webs that catch me and spin me round while I lie in bed. In the webs is also the first time in my day where I can forget that something real about me does exist and just turn round and round until things deep inside of me start to pour out that have got nothing to do with anything past my white sheets. So I fall asleep spilling, talking to you all loud again, and hoping you will catch all these things better than the web of sureality that I have made and shape them into something more useful. I always wake up though, step out, and remember I am something much more tangible than those thoughts, those shouts, and I come back to the routine I live without hesitation.
So it's this walk I had today that I want you to clarify. Because it wasn't routine. In fact, it was the only time I've ever felt those deep spider-web issues while walking and smelling and touching and feeling life. It was like my world was my bed and you were in the wind. So I thought my same bed-time thoughts but ran into new conclusions, real ones, and they aren't anything I have ever thought could be right. I need you to tell me if I am seeing this all wrong. Seems like there's no way that everything so unclear could be so sure so I am going to keep on assuming that these feelings of new are of good too.  ¶ 12:22 AM