Dreams – Color?
Here I am.
These words, the same words as always, reflected upon the face of the moon, have grown weary. Over and over, the same words, for everyone to see. Lost of meaning now, floating in the void of reality that we live in. I want new words that I haven’t heard before; old words whose meanings still live on. Maybe then I can communicate my true thoughts without departing from what the truth is.
It’s not so easy, speaking your mind. You spit out odd phrases encapsulating the wrong things for the sheer power of voice. I wish I could just taste your thoughts, palm them to know their weight, feel their ridges and valleys. I only want to learn with my hands. I don’t think we can truly speak our minds, the whole notion of it seems so delusional. What you think is the truth pouring out of your lips, so easily rolling off your tongue, it uses a theory of language that to me, has proven itself wrong.
Are you listening? It doesn’t matter anyway; my sentences that I form come out with too many ands, a continuous run-on. I am the interrupter. Leader of voice until I see your eyes drift to whatever more interesting sight is behind me; or maybe you see an idea of your own much greater than the exchange between us; you will chase it until it is caught, then harvest it within your mind garden before plucking it and letting it go. You can do all of this while I am still speaking my mind and heart. Are you listening? No.
So I shut my mouth and watch you. Whose beauty, whose words reflect your face? I see that idea you harvested reflected in your eyes. I want to consume it, to dive in and help you with the harvest. It is only then you see farther into my eyes than words could ever invite.