Circle

Have we come full circle yet?
I wonder this now as these memories flood me.
Or, is this simply the end?
Though the end is only ever the beginning,
They are one in the same
Much like night and day
Yin and Yang - swimming in the same circle.



I remember everything best in the sunlight, imprinted in my mind like moving Polaroid productions. But much like dreams, the memories contain feelings, smells, comprehension that a photo does not. Most are so very sweet, so innocent and hopeful, full of life. I wonder if always I will create moments like this, capture them so nicely. Or will they eventually change, as everything does.

And for this we shall move onward in metaphor, for only there does the truth truly ring true and truest. To run through a field, in nothing but your feet, to feel your breath so difficult to catch , butterflies in a net. To sing at the top of your lungs, in treetops. To free all ambition into water floating bout the air , caressing skin so cream colored.

And here we become hesitant, stumbling over so many words, that really ever only meant something quite simple. Assumptions made, gambling fools, wasting way in the days that fade. "No, don't leave me please! Not yet not yet not yet" .

Sweet summer. The only time I am truly alive. Is it sweeter then, or would I be better off chasing it round the hemispheres? You've tried that, and I only run. SO might she you think? The green gone of fresh, too stale , heat sticky not love left high tied. Did the bag close itself for 9 months, or only 7? And all these  questions, do they make you weary? As they made the man before, and the woman before him.

Faster now, faster. Do you understand? Only you will do. We knew this all along, or at least I did. You, I still can't figure out, though that is what entices me so. You now, believe this is for you , but it is for him. It always was. I am sorry, I tried to tell you. It hurts me more, do you believe that? I would bleed a pool for you, or two. Though I would die. Which won't matter so much .

Found you there, under the foliage, huddling. What from I will never ask. Some things are better left unknown.