happier now.

i find myself waiting for the perfect moment.
waiting for one perfect moment after another.

i don't feel for myself anymore.
instead, it's other people's poetry that influences my most intimate thoughts.
and every song on the radio contributes something.
not every word, and not every note.
but every constant hum from harmonic lips speaks volumes to me.
the steady, unassuming, and virtually unnoticed notes that exist only in contentment,
and at the same time, total melodic bliss--high-pitched and free.
soaring and smoldering, simultaneously.
sexy and sad.

"she is smiling and said 'come on'."

an invitation to be vulnerable,
but an obligation to her hardened heart.