White is the color that sets itself up for disappointment. Tender are the years upon which days seem short and naive. I drew the tip of my delicate finger inside the wavering of a candle flame. Then once in a supermarket I touched the pretty cacti. Cafeteria perfume convinced the mentally challenged of their afternoon naps. I on the other hand would not remain so lucky. ( the stock - market would recover, But I wouldn't, ha ha ha.) The elderly would hold the secret to all my premature misfortune. Being deprived of a sexual drive they hold a key to life in their eye!( A restless fire that shall never die). Lust and desire, are not the designer drugs the thrill - seeking heart requires! Just a constant steady source of painful sunsets diminishing upon a foreign horizon.
In a dream I knew a woman once. Love was the title of the affair we were engaged in. She smelt like lost sad flowers. I think her name was "Blue". She had a fascination with things that I didn't care for, until I knew her. Like Audrey Hepburn, Hallmark movies and Tupperware. She is no more than a mirage, a daytime obituary. Sofas, and mediocre movie references filled our conversations like, "what was your favorite scene from the Graduate?", when I replied "it was the music", a sigh pervaded from her desolate upper lip. Like someone stole her childhood from her. And I'm sure that someone did.
It's hard to really love someone, it's almost like it has to happen by accident . Desire is the premise of lust. Love is the the premise for permanence and companionship. Neither of them I know too much about, I just pretend.
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