At which point?
At which point, I ask myself, did looking into the genial diffused light coming out of strangers' windows start to evoke such a deeply felt pang of want and envy?
At which point did it start becoming a wistful, fantastical game of tale-spinning and make-believe?
At which point did every desire, every proclivity, every dependence and sweet attachment start feeling like a burden, a liability, an aching vein of susceptibility?
At which point, I ask myself, did I start living for the past that I cannot change, and the future that I cannot foretell?
Tonight the warmly caressing air is soft with whispers, and memories, and dreams.
posted by leah | 1:08 PM
2 Comments:
Your photo say it all... but life is interesting, things can be unexpected
Leah said: "At which point, I ask myself, did I start living for the past that I cannot change, and the future that I cannot foretell?"
But some people say life is the now, and the setting (targets?) routes for tomorrow. But tomorrow shall be what shall be.
PS - I only took that small piece, but the whole poem is great! - Q
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