Somewhere with you (Unfinished)

“Thoughtful now, counting the permeation's of dust as they fall, land, softly on my table. It’s a transitive relationship, the one between you and I. We will be the ‘greater than’ and ‘equal too’ inhabitants of our Martian planet.”

The lush surfaces (as I said) are defiled with dust and rot, just the way I like them. You seem to prefer the vintage of a pencil pot. “It rubs out” you say, ink just stains and overflows. Before you know, it will run into the vantage point of yesterday. A portrait hangs on the wall, a face so logical. I like Renaissance, you like Victorian. You told me you don’t believe in romance and that art is all below the surface, full of symbols. You pout, and shuffle, and so elegantly. Your artistry yourself-But of course, that’s what I’d say.

“Thoughts are intermingled when two might spend too much time- together, alive” I find myself thinking rather cynically and feeling alone...rather, you’re sitting next to me, but it’s like, between us there’s a shutter and it’s closed.

The night is a vigil on its own. Lethargy and uncollected thoughts swim my mind... Open... closed. I’ll read Wilde as you’ll read Darwin. I guess I’m more stuck in the mirror than you, in my openness and ulterior motives, in some respects, I’m wounded. You’re more stuck in a world view than anything else; the way people dress and present themselves is all just animal to you. I don’t know though, maybe the world never changes.