Standing in the desert. The sun...beating. The wind....cutting. Palms open, out, empty, caressing dust.
Her long pony hair.....whips. Her eyes dull with oppression. The plain....stretches...out...forever. She turns, slowly she turns......and she is alone.
I don't know if it's the loneliness or the feeling that no one cares. The door knocker frozen in place.
Maybe it's because I haven't had a 5 minute conversation with anyone other than my house....and therapist....in three to four weeks. It builds...the need to talk, communicate and share. Till it hits the wall that cries.
Awfully wet these days. Sometimes it rains without a cloud. Her language turns to her own. Thoughts simmer, down, down, down. The verbal processing plant runs out of fuel, forgets how to work. The lights dim.
Turn outward, turned in.
Isolation is only a problem based on duration and desire.
I don't want this to be worth smoot.
Whining is complaining on deaf ears and with futility. Let's talk about loneliness. Let's not. Why? To what end and purpose. Matters not that which will not change.
I will always be fairy friendless. Matters not whether it agrees with me or not. I cannt change this facet to collect anymore light.
I stand on the pinnacle...seeing what has fallen away. The air is thin, but quiet.
The desert is dry. She rains
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