Wait

I want to start writing about my grieving process as one would expect at this sour point in my life. To get it out by slitting my veins open on these pages with a butter knife and begin to pour vinegar into them to see what the reaction of the two could possibly create. To start writing metaphors for tears and how they are the equivalent to Pompeii. But something in me won't allow me to do that today. Perhaps a fight for my self preservation or perhaps it's the words that i read that are not my own that keep me coming back and writing. Just to see if i get a response from you. To bridge with you in a moment where i have been left alone and abandoned with nothing more than my thoughts which are guilty of taking my mind hostage and running my body through time and space like an old rag. I want to know who you are and where you are, what you do and why. you've fascinated me with your words, your small bits and pieces of tasty emotional morsels that i can feed off and relate to, so completely at times that i need not write but just read what you have written over and over again. like a truffle in the universe of life, i know you come with a heavy price tag. I wish i could talk to you and hear your voice, listen to your words and forget about all that ales me. I've had too much to drink, that sake waited up for me. Now i wait again. my dreams forge their own versions on my emotions and desires all drawn from desperation and self pity. Still i wait for more of your words on memorabilia, antiquities, titles in Latin and French, for more responses to get me through the day.