paving

waking up was hard, the bed too soft, the warmth dragging me deeper and deeper back into the pillows. Mom cleaned the sink in the kitchen and my melancholy was bigger than my annoyance about that. i stared at the blue white striped Mexican rug on my wall and the painting I drew back in 2006 in Santa Barbara and the lamp that used to stand in the corner of our apartment behind the green soft chair. I stared at the 'The Times Are A Changing' Poster of Bob Dylan and I stared at the door. Trying to figure out what this feeling was. This feeling that started to grow in me when I saw you and that ebbed into the night, multiplying over night, nailing me into my bed in the morning.
it would be hard to describe. an indistinct feeling of sorrow, interwoven with obscure longings and indecipherable, irrational dreams. dreams of would be, of should be. not of could be. dreams, that include parallel realities and worlds, worlds, in which love is paving the way for everything else, making everything possible.