an autumn wind

Is this not an idyllic autumn day, replete with that dullened autumn soul? The cold wind blows away everything, leaves nothing. I should resume "Lightening and the Dragon." Will this thing ever be done? How should I occupy this Saturday night? Maybe I should pray. (And maybe I should—but how often do I feel there is no ear complementing my voice and without that how silly I feel?) I want to escape the bounds of this small loneliness, maybe float high off on the cold autumn wind, float free from myself, and not shackled to the edge of something BIGGER but defining what it IS. This I hope, even as I crawl beneath it, battered by the fierce, the cold autumn wind. You have all of the things you are remembering, like thoughts of loving someone, maybe her love 4 u 2. But only then—only now—do you consider maybe it wasn't fair to lose it, because, you know, you are something BIGGER (thought you were sometimes smaller) and having it is in your nature. Who doesn't? What you want is to get back (or crawl back) to something where—no, it can't be said—but getting back is all that—now—is important to you. Getting back. Getting. Back. Love. Finding. Keeping it. Loving. Getting back to it. That is all there is. Just get it back; and then hold on like hell to it.

Do you get it?

John.