half of me.

I listen closely to the faint call of a train from my balcony, I'm sure the tracks are closer then I'm aware.  Karen O and the kids are humming through the soft whistle of it's horn.   I'm preoccupied, cutting an over-ripe avocado and watching it fade to dusk with the door just slightly cracked.
Today, I've spent reflecting.


Unbelievably warm November afternoon, I perched myself with a coffee and Sagan admits this autumns dying, blade-like leaves. In front of four boys walking tightrope, I lost myself in the wit and humor of an eighteen year old virtuoso and her seventeen year old protagonist.  I find it difficult to admire those younger than me,  I read on, admirably so.   It was unusually dreary.  Around this time of year it can become impossible to tell the hour of day, so one could not recall how long I sat there.  I rarely looked up from the novel, finding absolute parallels in Sagan's words and my thoughts over the course of these last seven sundowns.


Dissecting the mechanisms of human emotion and involvement in one another's lives has been the focus of almost all thought lately.  I have become so baffled with the concept of both love, and desire.   Poisoned and ridden by the ideas of inadequacy, disbelief and inability to ever love or involve myself with another person truly.  I float around more content to be alone then with anyone I know.
But, I know I love, and am loved, greatly and deeply.
I have become enchanted with the idea that all love is purely fleeting, that co-existing is temporarily amusing and that I am capably of neither.  
I have found love to be treacherous, and distracting.  I constantly envelop myself in my love and forget the outside world.  It drives me to be impulsive and hasty.
My conflict comes from a deep place, self destructive one would say.  I have all that I want and feel the need to over-analyze and underwhelm.  I can't say my love is perfection, I can't say it's close to normal, it's stable or comfortable.  I have never loved a man who could be my protecter, as I usually take on this role.
Why, in these low points, should I agree to be monogamous and linear.  Why shouldn't I revolt and allow myself to be free of something I am constantly coddling?
Contradictory as this may seem, I have only been reflecting.


I made an incredibly large salad.  Instead of finishing it while I wrote, I became nauseated with the idea of eating dinner alone.  These things, take time.