y o u n g ; b l o o d .

O n g o i n g - D o o m s d a y ; . . . ;

Where?

To the ends of the Earth, if you'll have me.

When?

Since the initial moment my thoughts, entangled in eternity, crossed paths with yours.

From the surface it rises, wide like a breath but narrow like a vision - the wonder to swell dwindles. Orbs would scintillate if their functions called for it.

And with winds of maximum proportions they die like short gusts, calling to another breath of flames.

Sweet, smoky flames that dance like memories of yesterday.
Sweet, smoky flames that dance like hopes of tomorrow.

That dance like the flames in the cavity at each convulsion of existence.

Life to be.

Live for me.

<3 ~ Monty.
=]

they say that { HOME . iswhere - THE|HEART|IS ~

Ingrid Michaelson - "Are We There Yet" 

"They say, 'home is where the heart is.'"

A color.

"I guess I haven't found my home..."

Your feet are covered. Your shoes are dark, not glistening with the spittle of morning dew that ordain the blades of grass in your midst as you plow through them. They protect you from the cold which seeps deep and claws at your clothed feet, deterring another rough start to another rough morning.

Waking up this morning was a task. You rolled, tossed and turned in your sleep. You haven't any recollection of doing so, either from the lack of sleep or the intensity thereof, but your body is tired. You've been carrying the freshly doled burden of obligation and expectation about, toting it not on your shoulders, but dangling from your fragile, exhausted neck.

Your eyes hang as low as your heart within its cavity, weighted by life.

Each step you take is shaky - indefinite. For a reason beyond your comprehension, however, you find that your legs lead you to where you are headed without any accord of your own mind. Your mind is elsewhere: naturally, it is aware of where you are going, though it does not protest at the pace you choose.

In somber tones, your strides are droopy and gliding slowly.

Steps. Three of them, concrete. On either side is a railing, black and sturdy. Over your shoulder, you see a black bench made of the same material. It does not appear to invite you as you wished it would. It is present to commemorate an individual of the past, one who is noteworthy. It does not wish to indulge in your company when you have much more pressing and impressive matters.

Your shoulders hunch forth. The invisible medallion of the world laced around your neck from an equally invisible thread sways. Formidable and domineering, you lean forward, letting shame and defeat cast itself over your head. You are nothing, you are beneath everything.

The three steps taunt you as you struggle to scale them. Each planting of your foot is slick, hazardous to your progression. The Fates are out for your blood, are out to capture your soul in an all-ending catastrophe that would cause something vital to perish and all consequences thereafter to collapse upon you.

Lift your head.

Before you is a bridge. The three steps lead to a bridge. The railing on either side stretches the length of the narrow bridge. It is also concrete, white like chalk and stained like stone. Upon the interim of the second step - one away from the ground and one away from the bridge's surface - you consider your options.

Either step down, or step up.

You have a place to be. It escapes your wandering mind for a moment, but your legs tell you that the bridge is safe, that you have walked this path before. With a bare surface and unyielding, definite length, you surmise that it is something to be little of suspect. Should anything happen, you can easily retreat to the ground you are familiar with.

The bridge does not stretch any taller than its own length. Beneath is a murky slush of sludge and natural wastes from the lake partitioned from it, vast and open. Upon it are two fountains: one spraying in a customary blossom of clear and crystal water, tall and broad with all of its pride; and another which meagerly supports the lone spectacle with a background spout, uni-directional and functioning.

The reflection of the sky in the lake reminds you of something that is not necessarily sentimental to you, but enhances the initial vision you saw. Connections made, your eyes widen and your skin prickles. Not from the waterfront breezes, but due to the sudden epiphany and physical affirmation of its occurrence.

You turn to back where you started on the bridge. Backpedaling with a smile on your face, you see your resolve in the miniscule beads of morning dew. "A pep in your step" is a bit overcast of what your movement becomes, but skipping down the steps is putting it very lightly. You burst internally in a swelling of thoughts - confidence, pride, exasperation, excitement, elation, desperation, curiosity, hatred, cluelessness, hopefulness, and love. In that specific order, you begin to couple literal objects in your life wherein these emotional connections are conceived.

You reached the end of the bridge with a wide smile. Your strides grew longer and stronger. Your heart thumped with sudden energy and your eyes flashed with immediate vigor.

What was it you saw in the water?

"Are we there yet?"

<3 ~ Monty.

=]