And so ends the indefinite hiatus. But some things never change, you know. Like setting down to write and needing the perfect song to go with. There we are: "you're | just like your father | buried deep under the water | you're resting on your laurels | and stepping on my toes | whose side are you on? | what side is this anyway? | put down your sword and crown | come lay with me on the ground." No, some things never do change. Fingers find their sea legs. The faint din of dancing words fills the ears. Yes, let me come rushing back.
For now, it's just you and me. Time enough and I'll spread the word. But for now, it's like lamp lit journals, sticky ink on faded paper. Except that here my fingers can move as fast as the mind demands. That's the problem with writing, physical writing - I can't ever get there fast enough. Each curl of a letter takes a second too long, and soon the thought that had been forming, in its usual circuitous way, has unraveled. Here, though, I can pick up and run, run, run headlong into the bright lights, dipping and flashing, my fingers close on their trail, so that, even if imperfectly, I can finally get at them. No, it's not perfect at all, but it always felt like I got a bit closer here than I've ever been able to with pen/paper. Sad, too, because the former seems so romantic. And, as posts past will attest, I've always been a bit weak for romance.
Anyway, without anyone to hear it, I'm welcoming myself back. It feels good - very good - and too long coming.
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