I Should Write LessI traveled back in time to catch a flight on a plane to nowhere.

You know the day is going to go well when you start crying at your desk after your first bite of tasty cinnabon.  Not talking the baby-tantrum style of crying. I’m talking about the silent cry you see in key moments of a dramatic flick, where there’s nothing but silence, and then a solitary mystery tear streams down your face.

That’s what I did.  I did just that.  Some days I know why those one or two tears stream down my face; others it’s just a mystery.  Kinda like those nosebleeds that you’d see kids in your 2nd grade home room class have.  I never had one of those, come to tell you the truth. 

Time marches on though.  I’m still lost and confused about my time, and my existence.  When those tears stream and fall; I can see and feel every nanosecond of the process.  The air becomes stale, sound becomes damp, and time starts to slow down and fade.

Maybe I should take the time (no pun intended) and look around for answers, whenever that happens next.  Each streaming, dive bombing, kamikaze tear that falls feels like an eternity.

Ivy.
Ivy.
Ivy….

Where are you, now?

A meeting which was only weeks ago, feels like months and years ago.  Random thoughts during these tear based rifts of time must move back and forth between the past, present and future perfect.  What once was a random summer missed scent of attraction, now turned into winter, years later.  So much later, that she is still waiting with shorter hair, a parka coat, and a glimmering smile…

The tear falls and lands… Time snaps back into sync and you’re back in reality; until the next one falls… 

Sometimes I sit and shake my head during the torture this curse of my offers.  Sometimes I stare into the distance, and I see my beautiful relentless stalker.  The one with razor blade eyes, and a racoon’s smile.

Ghosts.
All Ghosts.

I hear the echoes of the dead haunting me. A recurring pattern of my mind that tells me that I’m weak.  I’m just one of the fallen: broken, damaged and fucked up…  Too paralyzed to comprehend the truth.

My heart is just feeling lonely.  Lost, stolen and broken apart.

…And then I saw her stars.
I saw them rain over me.
I watched them come down, and watch over me.
So I’m here, right now.
This cloud absorbs the cacophony.
Rain down, and surround me with your poison, Ivy.
With your poison, Ivy.

I woke up and jotted these words down, and the image of the star which shot across the ether of my mind.  Later that day I came across this star, and her name was Ivy.  Was it deja vu, or was it time to blame it on the alcohol that this gorgeous bartender was generously serving me?

As with anything that scares me, I ran.  Ran away from Ivy’s smile, and deep black eyes.  I ran home and wept.  I knew it wasn’t deja-vu, it was another unraveled thread from my nicely knitted sweater from the designer label: destiny.

What is really left of me?  My reality is becoming more blurred and vacant as each day ticks by.  The merge of time is coming closer.  No matter how fast or far I run, it’s going to happen.

It’s going to happen.

—-

She thinks she missed the train to Mars, she’s out back counting stars.
I thought she’d be there holding daisies, she always waits for me.
She thinks she missed the train to Mars, she’s out back counting stars.

(Hum — Stars)

—

 I’m sorry Ivy.  Maybe in another timeline we’ll count those stars together.

Question: Since when did whiskey become a dessert wine? 

Answer:  Since the day I was disassembled, left for dead, then reborn confused, absent and disappointed.

I saw her piercing razor blade eyes across a sea of pedestrians today.  The eyes that I fear, but I’m secretly in love with, were watching me.  I felt my dissection from across the boardwalk, just making me burn and itch in discomfort.  Moments later, she was gone again; with her vagrant, devilish smile still clawing at my heart.

It triggered those white flashes. The flashes that makes the air taste stale, and my body start to shiver.  Through the smoke I saw we had children together, and she was a neurotic fucking mess, but efficient as hell…  Then I began to choke.  This always happens when I come to.  A little hyperventilation like a panic attack, followed by silly Hollywood melodramatics of checking my back pocket for my wallet.

Shit.

I’m not even a thief, and I would definitely go for a freaked out loon’s wallet, at the apex of his future trip.

Regardless, we’ve never met, but I know her.  I feel her when she’s hunting me masquerading behind the shadows of people, in broad daylight.

But the reality of it all, I’m still stuck here.  Seeing and moving between the future and the present, or not; I’m still stuck here.  Stuck here, peddling my misanthropic musings of a delusional cock-sucker. (That’s me).  I still return to this cramped pad with a less than ambitious lover staring me in the face asking:  What’s for Dinner?

I breathe the air to see if it’s stale, and then I realize that this is all real, and not a forecast of fair weather for Meriwether.  When I close my eyes though, I see the threads of fate which guide us all.  Mine are not hard to miss, they are the ones illuminated with a path paved with sadness and gold.

… I  just dozed off. And I kept fighting a field of white.  I don’t want to see anything else; unless it’s my freedom.