Love has to spawn from love to be given
What in offering will remain

A beggars fortune

Love predates the lovers face

Beds

I was laying in my bed last night trying to sleep and was experiencing insomnia. Spent two hours at least staring into space, or down at my sheets which have winking smiley faces on them... Somewhat tickled by that because the most time I spend in my bed is when I am feeling depressed. It was funny. Subtle irony.

I never slept in my bed as a child. I slept on floors. I had a bed... Many boughts with paranoia, something or other left me frightened beyond belief. I slept on the floor where any child usually would think to sleep. Wasn't till I got much older that I learned about the comfort of a bed.

This is a mere reflection. Something I was thinking about when my mind wouldn't turn off and I began to write in bed. I don't feel sad about it, just reflective.

Beds remind me of hospitals, relatives, and kin. Or when I finally got too big to use it as a hiding space. Attached is a plethora of feelings. Dread, anger, fun.

Don't think I still have the same bed I had when I was a kid. Do have the same headboard, which is cut in the shape of an oriental temple. It's heavy, I've had to carry it many times.

It made me think of beds, houses, streets, neighbors, childhood friends. How every single day when the sun went down the sunset bled into the wooden window shades of the house I grew up in. The sun was blood red. Looked forward to that. Always in awe. Colored hues of the sky.

Reflection

Katsushika Hokusai

Mourning

I am watching you die and there's is nothing I can do to save you. I'd make you see if I could. Don't get lost, you're not that far gone. I love you. I'll carry you.

Wordsworth

I wandered lonely as a cloud
That floats on high o'er vales and hills,
When all at once I saw a crowd,
A host, of golden daffodils;
Beside the lake, beneath the trees,
Fluttering and dancing in the breeze.

Continuous as the stars that shine
And twinkle on the milky way,
They stretched in never-ending line
Along the margin of a bay:
Ten thousand saw I at a glance,
Tossing their heads in sprightly dance.

The waves beside them danced; but they
Out-did the sparkling waves in glee:
A poet could not but be gay,
In such a jocund company:
I gazed--and gazed--but little thought
What wealth the show to me had brought:

For oft, when on my couch I lie
In vacant or in pensive mood,
They flash upon that inward eye
Which is the bliss of solitude;
And then my heart with pleasure fills,
And dances with the daffodils.

Putting out the fire with gasoline