Fading Freckles and Frantic Fumbling.

A dog is barking outside in the distance; I can hear his shouts echo through the alleyway in front of my house. These have been many days full of waiting, listening, hearing the faint reverberations of what once was ringing in my ears. The winter is imminent and each fallen leaf, brown and broken beneath my feet, is a warning. And yet, I am looking forward to that brief period between the seasons when the air is just crisp enough and the breeze is blowing the leaves around your knees. I look forward to shuffling my feet through piles and piles of leaves and the sound they make when the swoosh up into the air. This last summer is now just a distant memory and I've been looking in the mirror everyday to study how quickly my freckles are fading. I don't want them to fade.

I am trying to lose myself in something but, perhaps, I don't know what it is. I miss all the days I used to spend alone, on rooftops and running through back alleys. I don't know myself as well as I should because I don't spend enough time trying to get to know myself. I'm lost in the constant rushing swirl of clattering dishes and the busy din of the bistro. Every movement is so fluid and steady and yet everything is so calculated and cold. I am thinking about the past and how it is a constant present. Everything builds beneath me, it bubbles and billows and often breaks. I'm lost in the different people and I am trying to refine all the things I have been and all the things I want to be.

I dreamed something dark and awkward, something different and I dreamed it in stuttered movements. I have many things hidden in the folds of the sheets. I am lost in a landscape which towers over me and I can barely see behind me. I am caught in memories of things so long finished they may as well have never happened. Yet, I am haunted by all the people I used to know and perhaps I must write them in order to forget, in order to make them something outside themselves. And I am haunted by a feeling which lies deep within my chest and which I cannot break free from. I am looking up from the bottom of a rocky cliff and I cannot see what waits above me, far out of reach.