I walked into an old goodwill. robins egg blue poking out from the bottom of a pile of old speakers and toaster ovens. I pushed the devestated goods aside and found a treasure. a still in case mint condition smith-corona typewriter. a partner for my old and lonley remmington rand. even in this day in age i find a certain tortured pleasure in just banging out your thoughts. I huffed my new machine back to by bedroom where we threw ourselves into a night of passion. we were like lost lovers, ( I gave up my collection of typwriters in a move years ago. I lament it still) my fingers banged away on her ivory keys that night, we made some kinda love. pages of it. spilled over dirty white paper stolen from the back of a church closet. and i realized when i woke up spent with my baby blue love, curled around her like a babe, that all i needed was here. My tool to work through my broken hearted heart. I don't know why this time it's taking so damn long. It's so stupid. maybe it just was two great loves too close together. I just couldn't stand the idea of losing another one. I have found a new attack as my other plan was not working. I push for friendship to the point of madness. I run on the passion that can only be found in deep love. and now i have found it again. and i will use her love to heal myself and i will blow away any of the chains that have made me a slave to my heart. I will pound her in the night, an outlet for my anxious mind, i am more than this. all the other things in my life point to success. and i will not pass an open window due to a blind heart. it's time to stop whipping a dead horse. sometimes its just time to get off and walk.
- emmet feels...: hopeful