mirage two Time moves slower now, and words once thought to hold quite a lot now are seen as merely a flat expanse of land void of anything at all, and what little meaning there was now appears to have been only a mirage. Mind you, a well-crafted, beautifully palm tree-laden mirage complete with a lavish lagoon and waterfall, but a mirage none-the-less. And where does this realization leave me? Wandering the unending desert of this sector of my life like some character from the bible, but this story is not nearly as far-reaching nor meaningful. That mirage I once ran towards with so much hope? I find myself walking away from. What is there for me? Another disappointment. I've run towards mirages before, yes. I've wandered day and night drinking from cacti and tripping over dunes, but every time, my destination only got farther and farther away from me, until I realized what I was moving towards wasn't real. But every time I'd turn back and go in another direction, every time, I would let my gaze wander the horizon, and a tree would catch my eye, and I would find myself walking towards it. I always let that glimmer of hope shine within me that this time it would be real. I always listened for a bird to chirp, or water to trickle, but it was only my imagination that ever produced those sounds. And here we are, now. And this mirage ... yes, this mirage, I swear to god I thought was something tangible. I thought I saw a bird fly overhead towards it also. I thought I saw footprints ahead of mine. I thought maybe this was it. Maybe this was my break. This was my paradise. And in only a few more days, I would reach it. I would taste the spring and I would lay beneath a palm. But in the end, it seems I've found what I always find. Sand. Sand. More sand. And oh...what is this...? . . . . . ....Even more sand. 041108 ... crOwl i want to see what is in front of me and give it to you like a gift one takes all year to make. i want to eat dates and pomegranites, figs, and almonds, raisins, and macadamia nuts, honey, and chocolate. i want to catch language like a butterfly that leaves faerie dust on my finger. words like an ash smudge across the forehead. i'm visible. no mirage. i'm the real thing. paper, not plastic. i am a cliche. 041109 ... lostgirl in the sunshine 110416 what's it to you? who go blather from