Implod.e

Some days I just feel like water dripping on cement.  Or is it cement being systematically annoyed by the drip drip of water?  Well, some days sure feels like today, for whatever reason that chance has decided to use.

The girl is giggling in her room.  He's probably tickling her, that playful sinister foray into the befores of foreplays.  It's been a while since she's had a boy over, looks like things are picking up for her.  Silence now, only to followed by muffled laughter.

Two days, and I'm going home to tell mom and dad.  They are excited to pick me up from the airport, since I haven't seen them for months.

It's one of those days, where after frigid skin piercing cold, the city has warmed up in preparation for the week's rain.  It's pleasant, before the storm.  50s in November, you can't beat that.  My neck itches from the past week's dryness, and it's uncomfortably warm with the sweatshirt on -- but it's too cool to just wear a t-shirt. 

Love what you do, do what you love, love enough to do only to do only for love.

One of those days, where you glance at the watch and think 'Oh shit, it's that late? Where did the hours go, how did they hide so?"  What is the measure of time if there is no action?

I want my words to have the hardness of cement but light enough to float on water.