Scrubs, Broadway, and Wine

Faces

Faded faces

The scrolling pleats of the past.

I crave what I cannot have. I envy the age that I fear.

The time that I want, in the place I'm not in yet, makes me worship the present, crave the
future, but cling tightly to the present.

Boys. Men. Males.

Inspirations I'll never meet. A smile I'll never know. A rehearsed voice that makes me laugh.

To never know me.

Perceptions.

To shake hands would be nothing more than the touching of skin to skin. Different ages.

The touch would pass between nameless lips, and the future would fall forward just as blindly as the past lingered.

How will I ever reach these shadows...

They appear so high. A brittle ladder, with leery steps, frail and cracking. Too high or a wrong step and the floor would suddenly be my bed fellow again.

How does one ascend the heavens...

We'll never share written tales, banter over old tales, invent new realities..or recite lines together.

But my eye finds you and I merely mingle into the rest of humanity that simply know your name and credits.

Cie le vie.