12StringDreams

12 String Dreams Journal
2001-09-23 10:37:58 (UTC)

Saturday the 27th 1999

Sixty one days.

Saturday the 27th.

November 1999.

My chance to do something right. My chance for happiness.

Happiness.

Beyond content.

Beyond believing in being lonely.

No longer will I fight to be miserable.

No longer will I swear to myself and speak alone.

Swear and curse. Shaking my fist at the sky. Placing blame
in the most obscure places knowing it would be the safest
place to put it. No chance of having the blame returned to
me. No chance of being blamed in the process.

An open line of communication and a open heart of
understanding.

I tell my self over and over, "It's OK".

I write the words and even speak them from time to time
when I'm alone. They sound funny. Not enough to make me
laugh just enough to make me think. And think I do.

I think it's time. I just can't figure out what time it is.

I check the wall where the clock use to hang for clues,
nothing.

I look to the sky but the clouds hide the sun's position.

I search endlessly for my watch. I search the kitchen, the
bathroom, and all around the living room. I look under the
couch, between the cushions, against the wall. I sort
though the last couple of articles in the bottom of my
backpack. A razor, a bottle of aspirin, and an empty mini
of schnapps. I search though the bed, under the bed. I lay
down and search the ceiling for awhile.

I awake wondering what time it is and try to remember what
it was I was searching for before I dozed off.

The door opens as the rain falls beyond it, as she walks
through the doorway I remember but it doesn't matter
anymore.

It's time to try and time to believe.

It's time to trust and time to learn.

It's time to talk and laugh and cry if the evening calls
for it.

It's time to quit wondering and start making memories.

I want to have time to make those things that we'll look
back on years down the road. I want the time to make the
evenings last till the morning and the mornings last till
the afternoon. I want the afternoon to be ours and the
evenings to.

No matter what the time I want it to be with you.

I look to the wall again.

Close my eyes and watch the night pass.

Morning comes peacefully. I quietly embrace the coffee pot.
I sit back, smelling the smells of morning watching you
sleep.

I remove my watch from the ashtray and light a cigarette.

Good Morning