Bent Words

Bent Words

November 19, 2014

That's the kind of crap I miss most.

The predictable lyrics of CD's played too many times -- blowing the dust off the player hoping that it won't skip a beat this time, waiting for the first feelings of a good buzz to hit but never bring you down because you're too pumped/stoked/ready for whatever's next. A good conversation, a genuine smile, a place where the daily grind disappears because you're directly mocking it with your bad and glorious attitude. Where you don't look past today because this is it. This is life. This is THE life.

The tension amplifies everything.

The good times drown the bad. Who cares what you've got as long as you've got enough. You're selfish and fun and free and foolish. Like the fleeting brightness of summer nights spent doing something you're not supposed to...

The thrill of the ride -- oh, that night air amping you up more and more -- and the slow dissention into what you were somehow meant to be.

I feel that sometimes driving past the usual places we were suspect to be. Chasing each other instead being settled and stoic. Daring each other instead of playing it safe. Wearing our hearts on our wheels and spinning faster and faster out of control. Knowing you were looking for me and I was looking for you because decency/obligation/sanity could not compare to this. THIS moment, this throttle, this ride.

That's the crap I miss most.

The adventure rising within your chest without even having to look outside yourself. It was right there. Keeping you on your toes, quite literally.

There are moments/expressions/feelings bursting with realness that I wouldn't give back for the world.

For that's life. THE life.

You could do the right thing according to the rest of the world. Or you could be right here where everything must be so wrong to feel this right. Inseparable. Unconditional. Whole and fool hearty.

But that's alright.

We all need a taste before we become who we are, in ORDER to become who we are. In order to give us a bit of a jolt when we're sleeping at the gate.

Oh and that's what it was. Sitting at the gate, ready, engine bursting with life, waiting for the next twist/turn/jump/set of whoops.

That's the kind of crap I miss most. We've got what we've got. We are where we are. And we wouldn't give it up for a million years. But isn't it sweet to look back sometimes and feel that LIFE bursting/thriving/driving within us?

There's a song where they something about all the things that make us feel most alive are the things ready/set/go to kill us.

Ain't that the damned truth??

Better where we are but wasn't that a damned good ride??

Written at 5:51 p.m.