window gaze(r)

how would you describe the feeling of being called to something?

what do we name the thing that distinguishes mind talk vs. real talk?

today is another day that i’m here, 
and i give thanks.
to the music that dances on top of the couch cushions, 
filling the faults that i am sometimes not quick enough to find the words for.
mirroring my moments of deep breaths and soft smiles
with composition collecting every emotion that runs
down as sweat from the orange beanie 
that reminds me to look great even when no one is around
despite the literal humidity of what i call home.

i am in motion while understanding that i am waiting for something/someone to come;
one of life's peculiar paradoxes.
and when i have poured into the cliche cup,
brim-bout-to-breakthrough the nonexistent lid
i am left on what feels like the perpetual verge of overflow
ready to receive the rush of a new embrace
riverlike flow from fingers to feet
washed over with warm white light
a wishful thought that has ran repeated loops
in my mind while my back presses against the window sill
comfortably uncomfortable
and eyes venture off into another window gaze

tired of the moments where hope knocks on my door
and i open it staring absence straight in the eye,
not knowing if it was too late to grab the handle
or if the noise was make believe.

tired of the moments when i listened
catching every piece that belonged to you,
that you brushed off
and 60 to 120 later
i pieced you back to the portrait that you started with

is there a school that teaches how to walk your talk
because every time i think i got it
i fall face first, fractured figments of truth
no one to catch the pieces i brush off
other than myself
but trust i've gotten good at it.

i know i'm tired,
but when hope comes knocking
i'll still run to answer,
and when i open that door
i'll be sure to step outside.