Darling, Can You Help

Darling, can you help me move out of this city?
My darling liquored friends no longer could help me--for they are finding ways to cure themselves from their own perpetual world-hangover. They are also trying to find their own places in this world; the world that is heavy of liquor and dark secluded places.

But not me.

I've seen the scene. And the actions, plus some of the wonders that entail, that could be found in that certain places. But for the life of me, I could not, cannot, could never share the same feelings that all of my friends feel. There are always something missing in that particular site. Something inexplicably powerfully small and strong. That calling, that hums, that beats, and that pulsing being. I used to guess that it was that feeling that supposed to make you feel complete--but no, it was something else, it is something else. Something that I cannot find in this particular affair. And, oh, how I long to finally find the answer to that missing point.

The restless thrill of finding another place to quench this nostalgic thirst is supposed to be easy. Or so they say. But maybe, when I've found that position--parallel to what I've been looking for and perpendicular to what I've always known-- that pulsing being could be found and finally settle with the same purring ways of my revolving atoms inside of my being.

Perhaps I should ditch all of the things that add up as my beings instead. Perhaps I should go somewhere, start anew. Without the burdens of the past weighing on my soul.

Perhaps, I finally be.