When I first misplaced it, it wasn't a very big deal. Sips of tranquility doused whatever fire of kindled paranoia popped up. It was somewhere. Everything is somewhere. As obvious places and the maybe possibles were checked foolishly throughly, worry set in a bit. And then a bit more. And then maybe even a little more. Oh God, it's somewhere, anywhere! Nowhere...
How much was in it? What needs to be canceled? Replaced? Needlessly worried about? Mountains and four hours worth of high way are between me and home right now, and I reverse blaze the trail tomorrow morning. Time was never on my side, and now the fucker's got a chainsaw aimed at my economic and mental stability. Fuck.
I've seen better days I think. Though, I've been thinking about optimism a lot. How pessimistic am I really? That's another post, another sleepless night though.
I'm hitting a creative wall that I've crashed into often enough. Every story and poem is always lacking, lacking the basic and the trivial, the most mundane of decency. Instead it has the overwhelming, the awful unoriginality. Yet, it's mine; it's me, it's a path well traveled, but still, mine and maybe it's just a work in progress:
Some nights if I close my eyes,
I can see our lives all so bright.
I believe in sailing,
or skimming a water's surface
and
it makes it alright.
It makes it alright when
you're on the water's
surface.
and in my eyes were on the surface
sailing.
not drowning slowly faster;
there are no underwater
deep gapping dark caverns,
no abyss that we've already succumbed to.
I see sun even if its cold tonight.
-Dann
(I was notified it was found 2 hours into my drive home)
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