Steam

Fridays are the hardest days.
Because a whole weekend stretches out in front of me. I have nowhere particular to go. If it were a sunny season, like summers normally are, then I would be at the park by sun up, or rather by the time i wake up.

Suddenly my lonely mp3s suit me, making me cry for the Lord for endless summers and someone to love me, to make me rest in his arms. I may be just blabbing about nonsense things, but if you know me as the artiste, yes, that is artiste with an 'e,' if you know me as the lyrics-appreciator, the part of me that is my father, the artist for commoners, without the 'e'; then you would know and understand a sliver of my thoughts. After reading a book that needs to be returned a month ago, and listening to very moving songs, they move me now because now I can relate to La Vie En Rose, but instead of being in Paris like Audrey, I'm in Japan, such poetry or haiku-ism, if you want, anyway after all the distractions, one gets the feel of inspiration!

one which is artistic not in the visual way such as paintings and colors, well one can be, but right now isn't, one who now chooses to color the world with her words. words which pour like Philippine typhoons and Japan summer rains, rushing, gushing, drip-dropping on the windows out of her, her who you don't usually hear a peep out of, aside from singing songs or expressions, her who will soon have erupted with hot lava of emotions, if not for her written words.

Appreciate it or not, understand it even a little would mean a whole lot but then the words have done their purpose. They have been let out! ...And that would have to suffice.