Expert in You

This blog is unofficially named "Silly Little Love Song"

Reading, writing, rithmatic

Pick one, quick! One, make it stick

Study, muddy, clarify

Reason, publish, work through nights

Grab the title, snag the raise

Count the money, count the days

All the time spent at the desk

You’re the expert, you’re the best

Hold the trophy made of glass

Smile for the camera—Snap!

We all need must specialize

Success drives devoted lives

But there’s a subject I miss

Studying—and that’s your kiss

Small inflections of your voice

Faces you don’t make by choice

Shades of color in your eyes

In my eyes you are the prize

Is it so bad I want to be an expert in you?

I want to write for magazines

Fly to London, meet the Queen

Interview the President

Joe Six Packs hustling for rent

Sew tales of humanity

Rich and poor and in between

Give the world a laugh and thought

Paint in shades of gray, inkblot

Pen a treatise on world peace

Hear my Father say he's pleased

Yet a piece will seem amiss

If I can't write of your kiss

Learning love by learning you

Strengthens me at what I do

Ticks and tells and laughs and looks

Known so well I'll scribe the book

Such that nay the Iliad

Holds a candle in your stead

Is it so bad I want to be an expert in you?

Feeling Forever

Somebody once told me that a feeling feels like it will last forever. How silly it is. I soar to the heights of joy, I stretch my limbs and my rays of power and love extend infinitely in front of me, infinitely behind, infinitely now. And though I know that this will pass, that hard days lie ahead, nothing can touch me. I am in love, in love with living until, well, until I’m not.

Then the dark days come. They were just around the bend. I knew that they were there. I knew, but the knowledge sat apart. It had no place in the serotonin and dopamine coursing through my mind. Yet now I sink, low and ever more low, the world passing by as in a fog. I know that if I could just get my head up, up above the fog, I could see clearly again. I could feel clearly again. I could love clearly again. But the fog stretches on, dulling and saddening life until, well, until it doesn’t.

And then there's the middle, the calm, the everyday humdrum that exists when all of the pieces besides the dirty dishes sit snuggly in their place. No care but dishes, yet I still feel the weight of the dishes. It is nice to live here, the only here I have. The only here I have ever had, until, well, until there's more.

To feel transience instead of knowing transience! What would that be like? A dull ache accompanied by an endless optimism? Or an optimism accompanied by an endless dull? An indifference? How could one be indifferent to love? How could one be indifferent to sorrow?

A feeling feels like it will last forever. How silly it is.