"The Windowsill" August, 7, 2008

And I fly,
The bird in the air,
There’s wind in my hair.
And through all, make haste, travel,
To those of whom you care.

There’s pain in my chest.
This city offers no consolation.
This cell provides no comfort.
If I’m not longing to be there,
I’m longing for them to be here,
Or everywhere at the same time.
“Only in dreams you see what it means”1

And I’m a sight to behold.
Though sleeping awake, I am unaware,
Or was unaware, till reality called me back.
And I see now how dreams are the escape,
The sedative, the tranquilizer,
The soft luminescence I choose to admire.

Our love, our love that transpired,
A longer duration I have left to squire,
Of youth, home, and family all quickly dissolving,
My ties to things past force me to acknowledge,
Their brevity, their dependence to that fugitive dimension,
Perpetually abandoned to life beyond apprehension,
Yet in vain do I struggle to conceive my future,
Against fate my will yearns to mold this new creature,
To a form I can recognize and proudly proclaim
It’s this I envisioned whilst alone those summer days.

1 Rivers Cuomo