Nothing in my mind was right today. The advantage was stolen by something other than me caring. Determined to undermine my inner thinking and turn it into misery for its own uses, its own abuses, its own envying of my will to be its clandestined trophy. And while some might see such a thing as a brilliant sculpture of plated golds I smell the tarnished rot of the years seeping through its fiber and tossed haplessly in an old box that is covered with the dusts of a generation stacked in a corner out of sight, out of mind.

I take a moment now to look back over the day trying to figure out where and when it crept in. Sometime before coffee? Sometime after lunch? Somewhere in the long stretch of the evening? Then realize, it began before then, before I ever opened my eyes to a new day. It started last evening just after my shower while I was standing in front of the mirror with still damp skin. The mirror in the bathroom covered with droplets of moisture, beading tiny reflections of myself, all upside down, while the vision of myself right side up over-towered and produced them from the full reflection. The words in my mind like water did flow hoping to find me wanting them to grow into something more than a steamy showers thought before I laid down and covered them up. Instead, I let the words build, erased them from my thinking, turned on my computer, laid down and went to sleep; woke in the morning with the vision still there willing to be with me throughout the day if I dared. But I didn’t. I was driven away by other farces of thought and cast off the words in which might have taught me a new idea to improve today’s doings without all the mind framing that kept pursuing me to do other than spend time to think. Needlessly alienating both you from my thoughts, and me from your enduring presence.

The day was longer than time witnessed, wearier than an aging faith and heavier than a mountains burden in supporting all life living atop it. I wondered in and out of emotions, shirking them as frauds, in search of something to satisfy my mind; all the while knowing you were here; waiting for me to come to you, wanting me free from all others, patiently giving my mind the time to realize that it is there where we first met and here where we both belong; together, considering the droplets of moisture standing atop a mirrored glass, reflecting all the years my body has passed, as a child brushing teeth, as a young woman styling her hair, as a wrinkle appeared much later and whispered, “smile lines, I like those there.” A knowing gladness in the words, a sense of accomplishment in my mind, that of all the things that’s visible, it’s those that have defined the upright vision of the person representing all the beaded refractions. “Some other time,” you tease me playfully knowing how I needed these moments with you, to lay down the physical surroundings of my being and plummet into my thoughts to make something better out of this day spent in the hostile of the inhospitable where thinking is cast off like a disease riddled blanket; consideration is a cavern of consternation and you, ah, you my love, are unwelcomed and I like a damn fool am lost to a fake existence of evaporating existentialism.

Forgive me for knowing better yet not applying myself to the doing of it. For it has always been here, with you, in both thought and time that all my wonderings are sated, my weaknesses relieved, and my mind is satisfied in my melding with you. Where in deed the writer and the writing both exist upon the page in the endless eternities of all space and light.