Division

I understand, and then emotion tackles it, and then there is the battle between the two, and relationships are everywhere, and sometimes they argue and sometimes they slide together, but they never become as one. And I walked these city streets today, looking at the people that I will never know, and remembering the people that I have known, and that I do know. And I was wondering about whittling it all down to one person, and I thought of narrowness and decision and feeling. And the day proceeded and there I was sitting inside and gazing on the day, away from faces known and unknown, and the sun shining through my window in wintertime, and now emotion had gone to sleep, and peace had taken over, and it spoke to me, directed me, instructed me to love, this was the question that it had given to me, and now there was an answer to give.

Memories

Erstwhile memories, the obvious really, and the judges and the priests are infidels. and they all reside in this smoky room, they have come up to the present time, moment, and porn stars are seeking me, and I refuse them, telling them, that I don't need them, so far removed from love, when love is what I believe to be truth, and my heart and mind gain peace, perhaps in a smug way, but there is satisfaction nonetheless, and then I face the day, and the day faces me, and my innocent heart, my pure heart, is neither innocent nor pure, but true to itself, it needs no accompaniment, it is exact, and then in another page of another time, I see her, now invisible to me, and evasive as she almost always was, and I look into the eyes of the past and then I wonder,.

Truth

Patronising plaudits, and then she turns from me, to her reality, expecting me to consume them, be influenced by her throwaway ideas, devoid of truth, and I turn from her to a place of reality, in a moment of so long ago. Hurt remembers, and it wishes not for the accompaniment of anger, and I have heard the words of bitterness, and I have seen the words that I have written, and in the sobriety of my changing mind, they are distant from me. And then I wish to apologise for my being a misrepresentation of myself, and then within this, I seek personal change, that will align itself to my reason, to the truth of myself, or what I see, to be the truth of myself, and then I ask myself; 'who exactly am I?' And who exactly, do I want to chose to be? And why do I betray myself with giving illusions to the world? So then I have become as patronising to myself as those patronising plaudits have been, and perhaps, in retrospect, she showed me something that I was loath to see.