"Heart as collapsed time, as dug-up grave, as simple machine. . Heart as love being made, as fucking, as a pleasantly haunted house. . Heart as throw your hands up in the air, throw your art at the stars, stutter and stare. . Heart as all that we thought we knew in the world disapears into vapor. . Heart as the rest of your life times the weight of the world squared."
is comfort between two people the gun shot that starts the race? that begs you to run?
or is "comfort" an illusion that sneaks up on us when we're not looking?
who are we to know what the right moments are? who are we to know what feelings are real?
can we always miss eachother? falling in and out simultaneously.
and how can we run from what anchors us? we never go away, so you're wasting your breath.
maybe you should use it instead to say what you mean. or what you don't. as long as you say something - then can your breath really be wasted?
say something that matters. or do something that screams at us. at me.
do. something.
(because it's already to late)
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Maybe it's not enough to know yourself, or maybe it's too much.
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