Monday, August 24

Silent Letters

I've said it before, I'm a runner. At this very moment,  I want to run outside. It's too late for that, and I'm too out of shape for that, at least right now. So, I thought I'd blog. Excuse the laziness in my writing; I'm a bit tired.

Silent letters weren't heard like the "B" in subtle. If you've written one, there's no such thing as being subtle. Silent letters skipped the drafting phase and go on mass display from masking face. What I'm saying is that you've read my expressions with my silent letters.  Written in body language, like sighs and anguish. Like oh my I'm famished for your time to hang with. Can't you see me begging for you to ask me the wrong question, so that I can lie about just so I won't look desperate? That's what I'm going for when I send you messages like these. I saw you for the first time in awhile. And tried to smile, but out of nervousness I repeatedly tapped on my leg the Morse code for, "Where have you been? I've miss you." Have you heard of this or was my heart beating too loudly? It did get to you. Just another silent letter gone unread and discarded like credit card applications. However, I have a good interest rate, and you're my interest mate. I doubt that you hear the "b" in doubt. So there's no use in guessing because there's no "u" in guessing, at least not one that I've heard. Those aren't the kind of silent types that I'm sending you. I kind of type a message to kind of write just to mention you. For God's sake, I liked your Instagram post. So, I hope you hear this. My memos come in the form of dodging glances, little lies, little signs of discomfort when you come forth. Silent letters like showing up to where you were at. I was heading to your greeting, closing in on your signature, but it came out as ignoring you probably. You're still in my salutations, my "Dear" and my "Love", and everything in between those commas, your body'd be. You're right, a first class forever stamp. I face you yet daydream about you, being a space cadet. That was a stationary that hasn't left the postal station yet. So this is my post script to my post card, a post blog. Until you read it, it's post marked. I've removed words, backspaced a few letters, took it out of speech and wrote it off. None were heard, some were misunderstood, but all were sent as silent letters. Certainly you didn't mistake me flirting with another girl as a sign that I've gotten over you. That was just a signal for you to snatch me away. Since you didn't, I took it as a message misread. Take notes when I make notes when I tell you things with my tells. Next time that I express a silent letter, I'll send you it in written form as a blind carbon copy of an email. I won't have to raise the flag up, lick an envelope or pay for postage stamps, because silent letters weren't heard like the "B" in subtle. If you've written one, there's no such thing as being subtle.




Saturday, August 15

The Valley

This is the cry from my violin's bow. I can feel my deepest fear coming true. My internal fire trickles down the little wick remaining. That's the truth about our candles. We burn as bright and strong throughout, just until our dying seconds. Through the tough trough, no scent of any roses. Life is being taking from me, but I am not the only owner. I'd rather not have this secret. Honestly, I can't feel my heart beat right now. I'm so terrified, shapeless and paralyzed. Poor in memories asking for more hours, more ours. I'm staying when the credits roll. No encore or curtain calls wanted. Stay with me. Maybe someone will want me after the tragedy passes. Damaged goods can get bought if its price is compromised when its value is down. I'm caught waiting in between the calm and the storm.