Somewhere, in the recesses of my memory, is a half finished song - it was blues, till it became too pop, turned metal with range. Right now, in this moment, its a piano solo against Joni Mithcell's voice. Only I can't remember the tune anymore. It's half a melody in the mind.
Along the way, I've learnt to mimic relationships - feelings, togetherness, respect ... only endurance is a big-word and nothing can mask a loner's heart. Not even a half-hearted love.
At some point in time, I befriended words. They seem to know me more than I could comprehend. With every strike of the spacebar, another word would scribble itself as if my sub conscious was talking back at me - chiding me, describing me to myself. Lately Ive been filling empty gaps in newspapers as writing. Half voyeur.
This half being has managed to fill a certain half emptiness, making it look half full. Once in a while, I lose the connect. All I am now doing, is half living.
