bleeding blue.

the weather has been impossibly perfect for swimming the last few days; a solitude i enjoy in the face of the oncoming winter. they've cut the long grasses along the fence, although i do not recall seeing the stalks falter, fade. leaves curl in spiderwebs slung from tree to brush to iron bar. we sleep with the window open at night, and night falls surprisingly fast. time slows in the dark; each time i wake, i look to the clock and expect morning, and the long night hours ahead are not the relief or promise of restful sleep that they would normally be. there is an aching in the hollow of my hips tonight that keeps me awake and thinking of warm, lighted waters and the soft hum of breath in my ears, the slight drag between the fingers and the suspension of weight that brings everything, briefly, back into balance.

---

The past we seek
Some certainty
The seasons we remember
The light of May, and darkest days--
The month we call November
To leave behind
The wasted time
And every bad decision...
and harder still
What force of will
To feel we are forgiven
But something stays
So who am I to say
There's nothing more between us?
And I don't know the reasons
Nothing's clear, I've
Come to no conclusions
Said and done
Is it all said and done?
So here we are
Not very far
From when we said
Forever
And all we have,
This restless past--
The month we call
November (--November, Duncan Sheik)