"Without much regard to the moon or the stars..."

I feel winsome today. I can feel the Weepies and Vance caught in my head. Sad love songs on repeat. Thrusting the emotion in my face, amplified by my current loneliness. I find comfort in the awkwardness and imperfection of their tales. Not the upbeat sappiness of childhood fairytale but instead the more realistic love that I wish for myself. It makes me think about what my love used to be and what my next one will be like. I feel almost anxious for those little things that will reinvent my smile and because I hold no disillusions, I even imagine what mistakes I will make. I find I hold a craving for those awkward moments to come. And the pain I... we will have to endure. I wonder if this next emotional amalgamation will be the one that endures, that survives my madness and imaginably even his.

This ponder will inevitably bring about a sense of urgency. The usual rumination of when such a life connection will occur. Why is it that we always seem to be waiting? Waiting for a life to start or even just the next hour. Even in a world without the ticking clock we will still always anticipate the next sunrise.

But all thoughts are processes within themselves and my eagerness will not push me into action. The modern adage and infinitely repeated sisterly advice of "just let it happen" echoes in my head above the Mitchell and Dylan. And I find that the music is no longer the soundtrack that my heart pumps to but it is instead the soundtrack to help me better pass the time in the waiting room.

The physical:
My rest within the House
The desired:
A connection that defines
The feeling in the forefront:
Well-worn loneliness
The smothering sense:
Tactile - staggering absence of a tangible fate
In absence of misplaced action:
Contented slumber
If I were listening closely:
The Avett Brothers: The Ballad of Love and Hate