Somewhere it has happened, somehow in this vast crazy world of thoughts and drums and beats and tears and hearts pounding and heads screaming and manic monkey Mondays throwing their lungs and ears and eyes at the sky.
Madness, sadness joy and wonder, there in the midst of the mayhem, when I breathe and see and sparkle and shine the light of life that I was born with, I feel at home.
Home safe, in the body and skin and blood and tears and sweat and pain and ease and joy and comfort of the comforty blanket that a reconnection has reminded me of.
Home to me, the me I am, have always been and always will be now, no matter what, i am reminded of the real the apparent the obvious the good the bad and ugly and beautiful and sad starry sky eyes lighting up the never and always land that is me.
Madness for sadness for forget-me-not forgetables discarded by the roadside after a picnic spot has run out of time. The joy-filled centre of merriment bleak and lonely again by the roadside, white table and concrete chairs, awaiting a return of family and food and fun and fantasy on a saturday afternoon ride from the city.
Alas it waits until the return and then it can know no other time thn this.
Children carry the memory of fish and chips and hot coffee buring lips and warming weak insides, tumbled by hours swaying and turning, churning the miles between home and family, distant still but warm and scented on the wind.
Sunny days of picnics and white tables and chairs, etched forever until the last blood surges and the last breath pops, hiss, crack, badoom ba------dom.
No coffee to warm these lips, not hot chips, wrapped in grease and paper serving delights of near adventure and rumble tumble times so long fogotten.
And tables and white chairs sit still, not whispering a word about the intimate moments shared that sunny spring day long ago.