sun, bathe me//The Monads Don't Have Windows

The Tallest Man on Earth - I Won't Be Found
Bob Dylan - In My Time of Dyin'
Murder by Death - Those Who Stayed
Chris Watson - Telegraph Cove at Night

// folk.rock.nature \\

I'd hate to think this was all we had to offer, that our hours invested were wasted on idle truths and convincing liars, dancing on a drowning seesaw. Maybe if we could run off and disappear, a fitting finale could find us under some oak's shelter in the forest of my backyard; like an alternate ending to Dr. Faustus, with impotent devils and rescuing angels, we could escape any mistakes we've made and live subtly by the beach. If I'm asking for too much, please ignore this message, and attribute my slight of tongue to the late hour and the persistence of ill mental health. Or, next time you catch my eye, raise your eyebrows seductively and walk away. Maybe you'd rather not play a second round, but I'd love a new dose of temptation.

Together, we could escape the obstacles of time and run headfirst into forever, tripping over the fortunes of tomorrow and forgoing any promises of yesterday. Hand in hand, palm touching palm, I believe. Without an extra pair of socks, my feet are already wet.

Goodnight, until you wake.

- tgrs

// illustration by ks \\

1 comment:

Toy said...

This is a beautiful post.