here i am, sitting in my small condo; alone. the blinds in the southern-most window raised just enough to reveal the frigid outside. the sun had disappeared about an hour ago and huge snowflakes were falling like elephants tied to anchors. through my bookshelf speaker flows an ominous organ chord layered with the jingling notes from a telecaster. the past month or so i have sunk into this 'counting crows' moment. not because i met a guy named mr. jones or because it was a long december with january close behind, no no.. its because of the high i get from the comparison of the lyrics and my life.
i've got a bookshelf filled with my autobiographies and yet i've never read them. a few are painted with photos that i've never seen, and the pages are out of order. atop of my bookshelf sits a bonsai tree that i never got to know. i water it everyday and scold it for growing bigger. there is a candle i bought because i thought it smelled amazing. but once lit, its that much closer to no longer having a purpose. i looked into the mirror this morning, leaning forward to get a better view of the stranger i saw. it was me, looking at me. how long have i been gone? how long have i been asleep? this dizzy life is a dreamers delight, where nightmares take flight, and wrong becomes right. the pillow held under my thoughts as i wondered what wakes me. running down streets, with pavement pounding feet, arms held out to reach for things that can't save me.