into the vastness of emptiness

It's not like I had anything to say and it is certainly not like anybody would read this anyways.
And yet there is something about this vastness of emptiness inside of a startled soul that shimmers like a little but warm candle light in the middle of a forlorn night...and don't get me wrong, light is vast, unless there are obstacles...
but obstacles have worn off, under the guidance of time's wings brushing sand dunes into endless variations of forms and even remote feelings of missing or lacking something or someone only echo within, never giving away what the origin of sound really was. And the mind is too clumsy to grasp that essence, rotating around it's own axis of evil.

Foreworn gazes in a forlorn night. In obscurity. The lover sits at the internet cafe table two plastic cups in front of him, a candle light fickle but unexhaustedly disguising a band aid like shelter and a pen and a book but nothing to write in it.
It is the reflective mind, the contemplating loser, who wallows in his own pettiness or should I say greatness of being pressed through the old human-becoming mill of love and life.
Then, suddenly, there is this homeless black guy. Black like the night, only his white fro shimmers like the moon but his eyes have lost it long ago. The homeless woman, maybe he attacked her verbally, shuns him away, she is voluptuos and authority is radiating like liquid energy around her.
He looks up, angelic like curly hair, Raphael might have painted the blueprint for this man.
And smiles.
I smile back and we start communicating through the glass, laughing, because it is weird and we don't understand everything and finally he comes in and we start talking.
As usual when strangers meet in magical circumstances, and this cafe certainly is a magical spot I tell ya, the talk goes from A to B without interruption and we find ourselves in a conversation about mathematics and love and my paintings and investment called luck, did I mention love.
The lover is not a contemplative loser but a lover of mathematics who is searching his mind in idleness for underlying simple questions of more complicated problems.
And he turns his head too, because he is a man and beautiful, to look at the beauty of bypassing booty.

it's always a good decision to come here.
and the magic of human beings envelops and enbosoms me against/in the fury of time.
and enthusiasm, linguistically, means: in the presence of god