Pursuit

Music:
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Xow2gnVTUjs
http://www.youtube.com/watch?feature=player_embedded&v=scctp8-xYX4
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=qjlPplqMhz0

The wind sweeping the ice; the poignant inserts.
I sit ruminating pensively.  A utopian reality dressed in white ethereality that is, yet, weighted dreadfully.

The street lights turn on and the sky is awash with magenta, but only subtly so.
The perfect setting for my soliloquy on the heart.
Its almost as if mortality waits to grab my ankles; for the juncture when I cleanse myself of this.

I hand it out to Sigur Ros on a silver plate; now, and anytime.
For they make me overflow.

The anticipation.

The conversation was of the insides falling out; the dreadful wait for somebody who never returned.
The silence witnessed sharply, the outpourings un-answered; the gestures never restitute.
The child like excitement; the black ink seeping; the incoming poison-tide.

The excitement dulled, the wit alert, the guard raised; the stomach churn.
The heart's heaviness under the juvenile breast; more echoed,  dragged; more antagonized.
The astute ache.

The pathos evoked. The anguish entailed.

The white elephant of everybody's conversation.
The apathetic smiles; the torment whetted.

The darkness of the soul risen.
The reality bridged by intercourse, so fervently avoided.
Geographical reasoning speaks loudest at this juncture.
The QWERTY keys could unlock the soul, but regress progress too.

She has walked this ache out of her bones, but it lingers.
To pursue or to retreat?
To ebb or to flow?