Small Veins.

Anonymous asked: There’s a curiosity in you that will move mountains some day as effortlessly as you’ve moved me for years.

Way to make a heart want. Thank you. That is very nice, anonymous.

I feel slow and dark and green with my eyes closed and my love held close
Like a glacier gradually melting over the warm ripples in my mind,
We move to gradually ease one another’s spiritual goosebumps.
Do not move so fast and far from me.
Like my heart is in the bottom of a cool well waiting for you to work up the courage to dip it out little by little, you move in small portions..
But do not move so fast and far from me

With each sip of me, slow and dark
Tragic and desperate, just pull me apart one vein at a time, tomorrow seems like it could never come cast its shadow onto our symmetry.

What a feeling, if this is a feeling at all. If this is a feeling at all, do not move so fast and far from me.

Can I ask how you are? Can I ask you how I am?

Every conversation is just a set of blue cue cards. Yet, I still remember the rhythm of your approaching foot steps and love every wrinkle of sound they’ve produced on my floor. My mind begins to condensate at this thought pattern, as if to try to flood you out. I often times find myself on this train of peppermint thought, holding your scent in my chest until I am so blue that it hurts to be any other way.

But you’ve forgotten my tendency to think of you this way and my inability to escape this tendency. You have forgotten much about me. I envy the scenic route you took to this point and yet I am happy without the trip. This blue is more desirable than that unauthentic peachy keen you’ve got there

Christian Weaver 20130101

The way the human mind works just makes me further believe that nothing honestly takes place or that everything could be a dream or that there might not be dreams at all or…. Basically, the way a human mind works or… maybe it’s just my mind. Either way, it is terribly unfathomable and practically dimension altering. 

It’s like when… you’re counting money and all of a sudden something non-existent magically catches you off guard, breaks your attention, and causes you to lose count. So, what do you do? You start all over with the count and hope you can maintain concentration levels high enough to finish the job of taking note of the inventory of your possessions. In contrast, you could be brushing your hair and you are aiming to accomplish 100 brush strokes but then something non-existent all of a sudden catches you off guard and you lose count. However, you do not start all the way over. You just begin with the last number you remember counting, without any need for validation of whether or not that was the actual count. You’d just like to get the job finished. For some reason, people seem to do this with their memories as well.

The human brain, from my experience, just takes the last snippet of memory that stood out to it and connects other details later without any need for validation of whether or not that is actually how the memory occurred. Perhaps, it is the culture or the time that I live in that for some reason has caused people not to value their memories as their possessions. The strange thing is that I consider my memories to be my most prized possessions. They created me. I just cannot understand how this can be. 

I wanted to know nothing about her. She was this glorious little thought to have, on occasion. I liked her for what I’d imagined her as. To me, she was a reflection from street lights and the smell of blueberry scones. It was nice to simply peak all of my senses based on very simple observations. With every move she made, it was like she was a model in some wonderful cheap advertisement for love. Every Monday and Thursday, I watched her flatten pizza dough on a catwalk. She guzzled Smart Water like it would be aired on NBC later that day and wore cut-off shorts for American Apparel photo shoots. I once over dramatized my feelings for her and condensed them into a cheap shot of a poem.