Chalk Board

Throughout my life, I’ve always been afraid of losing people I love. Sometimes I wonder, is there anyone out there afraid to lose me?

There are so many things on my mind tonight, I don’t quite know which one to give my full attention to.

That’s how I tend to deal with the chaos that reigns inside my thoughts. I envision a class room, theres an old chalkboard in the center, the seating is amphitheater style and ultra modern, the chalk board is incredibly out of place.

I love it here; it’s where I teach myself to fly, to live, to love, to learn. I write books in here. In fact I write all sorts of things in this place: poems, scripts, lists – never underestimate the calming power of a list. Sometimes I do esoteric math, not because it’s awesome but because sometimes I have no choice; my subconscious rules this place and I am just a visitor.

But I digress, today my chalk-covered fingers move feverishly over green slate, the board is shiny with age and every stroke squeaks in a pitch high enough I imagine that if there were dogs here, they’d be absolutely losing their minds.

I write things in languages I don’t recall ever having known, I find myself whispering in accents long forgotten, I work backwards from right to left and find that every way I trace this route I find only an empty place in my heart.

Every equation ends with an extraordinary sum, somehow one plus one equals more than two and that when I think about this idea I can’t focus long enough to figure that one out.

Every list I make these days is headed with a vague idea and it somehow matters more than any other list I’ve ever written and yet itemized it seems to only be images and pictures, there are no words that can explain this adequately, and somehow not even that matters: in the sense that somehow I just know that I will break all of my rules for you (I don’t know what to call it, only something in me understands).

My chalk board, once covered in physics and anthropology, synopses and storyboards now holds only a sketch: a girl that doesn’t yet exist and some hastily scribbled cartoon hearts…

Keep it real kids,
❤ ry

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