the course of a free man

contemplative structure may be the best action to chart a course, however, by the time our dreams are going to cement, we have always drawn the blueprints over fault lines, they all crumble. i have planned so many extravagant days and then when i reach them they have the shimmer of a tin can misplaced among railway ties. all evening it seems as though the endless turning mill inside of me has been draining poisons from this system, and maybe they are entering instead of finding a panic filled escape route. i am dying, slowly, each and every day. so are we all. we all have our addictions, misconceptions, and passions that take from what was once left our innocence. we are a short walk from the grave on these evenings, and all though we may not know the time or place where we will rest our bones, we can feel it growing ever near. short of breath and long on excuses is how my sentence structure seems to escape my mouth these days. i never know what to say to that one girl. people always seem to ponder what we need to survive in life. i have everything, my whole life it has been given to me. what is the one thing that i need? there has always been the girl who i could look at and wonder what it would be like to be given her whole heart. so many months ago, as a scribbled words and images on those pages and passed them into her hands, i gave her my heart. now it sits beating in some landfill or buried under several seasons worth of debris in a darkened closet. still i know when i see her eyes and hear her voice that everything that has happened will always matter behind my fading blue eyes. she is the past for me, she is a ghost, who for the price of a two hundred miles can become visable once again. so many nights have i sworn her off as a sidwalk prophet would a demon, but still i need her. she is my world, she is my everything. yet, i know that it is a fading dream, like a child who has outgrown his comic books, and now just revists them for the innocence they can still embody within their images. i now walk the twenty or so odd blocks down the park where i would play childhood games, fulfilling nothing outside of a sense of reconciliation with the past. maybe that is the someday i am looking for. the day where i can stand upon the precipice of free thought and proclaim myself a free man, a man no longer a victim and slave to memories held inside this mess of organs and veins. i try to paint these pictures so that you may understand that this is not what everyone else has experianced, and that i will not heed your advice. you tell me to forgot what has happened, let her memory pass from inside me, and find a new face to replace her. it as though i had walked through a department store after an earthquake, and picked out the only china doll with its face intact. everyone else is just a mass of chipped porcelin paried marred and shattered limbs. i need no other face, and i have finished searching to find another. i love her's with all of my heart, the same one i handed to her scribbled on that piece of paper, the same one that has been lost to the wind. i have been lost to the wind, and the four may spread me across the earth. only she can find me, but only she does not want to.