fog

Managing interest in a all too familiar Denny's. Catching threads of conversation that weave a tapestry of the night. Embracing your own feelings of inadequacy as your patterns interweave with friends you feel you've known forever and those you would like to know more about. It is odd, that your desires can shift suddenly with the slightest irritation. How you can surprise yourself with your own interest; to wonder if you've really got your heart in it this time . . . or whether lonliness is playing another trick on you.

The departure leads to foggy streets, treacherous roads, and a seedy establishment.

Bum a smoke, for the hundreth time. Sit and make yourself comfortable. Ask where the rest are at, who's asleep, who has to work. Then you move on the present company. Notice the threads that make a completely seperate design; where motives, explanations, justifications, reasons, and emotions pattern themselves after some sort of semblance of life.

I come to a conclusion. The most beautiful of designs are emblazoned with the most beautiful of colors. The array is never subtle, never complacent. It is vibrant. I watch the colors cascade in my small tapestry. Watch them match and reflect and create the world around.

I leave the seedy apartment. The fog has settled onto the treacherous roads. Ahead white light pierces the freezing mist. I immediately assume its the moon, due to the intense beauty and justifcation of light and dark. This light shines.
I drive past the cheap houses, down the treacherous streets, and find, around the corner, the beautiful illumination is the light of a billboard, whoring some advertisement for some obscene cost.

And I realize, beauty is translucent, changing, ineffible. I see it where I want, and with whom I want to see it. It has the potential to fulfill me, to make me lost, to make me wonder how to impress over the table at a cafe.

But mostly, it makes me doubt. To desire it, bask in it, be with it. It is too much, and never enough.