Absolutely Miles Away …too many clouds, too little time…

±1 (plus or minus one)

I can never quite find the words. There never seems to be one best time in which to say whatever wordsplurging might mean today. There are too many best times. Way too many. Inordinate opportunity. But not, no. Not to speak. Never…

I’ll sit again, in quiet gaze, looking at yesterday’s heatsome fire in the sky, mind adrift with the clouds, until i fall back down to earth. But not with a bang. Never with a bang. Just a quiet and slow descent, caught every time by an expert positioned below, who takes my hand in a smooth transition from vertical to horizontal, and coccoons me closely in bubblewrapping, lest i descend too fast again.

Silence gives nothing to hold on to. A vacuum where nothing can survive. An empty smile or a subdued promise can be spoken in no letters, and have no word tales to bind and twist through fingers.

Teach me the depths of meanings, treading water on one lingering non-phrase, as the bubblewrap pop passes these hands once more. Slip seconds once passed in digital entwinement, yet nothing now keeps us afloat save from plastic and vacuous air cells.

Let these bubbles burst of their own accord.

Wordsplurging - I so love that… and the slow drift. Isn’t silence just an empty space that you can fill how you want to, though?

There is a point to that Depeche Mode song. :D

Melograna : i think it depends on the type of silence hanging in the air.

Andophiroxia: perhaps everything has a point, no matter how hidden its meaning?

Perhaps… the point is there is a time where there is none? ;)

Maybe the point is that I’m thinking way too convoluted so I think I must sleep. ;)