a fool not rushing in

my life is becoming one big soliloquy 

and i kind of don't hate it 

​

of course that one line from the great gatsby is now stuck in my head, wish I could speak my consciousness's language, I'd tell it great timing! 

"[...] so we beat on, boats against the current, borne back ceaselessly into the past."

because what is a writer sitting cross-legged at the typewriter's face::an artist with stains on the floor of their chest cavity::a chef at their mundane table with only a knife::a 12 year old who fell off the swings::a swimming pool in one of ed ruscha's book::: without a past?

and is it sad, and can only up to this point, realize that to remember may be all one::I want(s).

:::things I haven't been able to get out of my head:::

how can it be wrong to miss someone being there, but not really miss them, and what I mean by not really is not knowing if you want to un-miss them, you know::connaissance::

feeling out the lyrics to blue velvet, and dream lover
shushing the birds in the morning
feeling out how blue has evolved
wondering if it's time to re-read bluets,
knowing these "-ings" are not a forever thing.