Ambience (Poetry Book 2)

Motivation

Awakened, I paused in the motion of menial necessity; realizing I had returned to my slump. Compared to my buoyancy two days prior, the 3-4 hours of depravity before I sleep, or after, reflect the current doldrum of affections. I have returned to my cycle once again.

Its a place where I rise for the sake of novelty and eat in the name of sustenance. The search for pleasure numbs senses and time slips faster. Yet at the end of the day, there is no satisfaction. Only more desire.

So I look back, to recall and remember what motivated me to write- to love. How did I remain in the light so senselessly? So naively? It seemed so easy....

The hours passed writing were not only escapism but a thrill- an adventure breathing by right, into life- a matter of course.

The hours spent reading were the best past times because life- and people- and reality- were boring. Repetitive. Predictable. Myopic.

This...love...this...life was not.

The hours spent daydreaming plots and edits to the ever-growing Playlist were a haven...and second nature.

The world was real. So, I breathed.

Perhaps...my faith has faded?

I close my eyes on mundanity and open them to look at my lover.

Standing aside the bed, she glances at me from the small white book in her lithe fingers and smiles.

I smile back from the bed- perhaps her lap; both are the pest perch for I see both haven and her in one sweep. Here, I can fantasize freely and viscerally exchange bliss through words, motion, and touch; feeding to be fed, and fed to feed.

Such is our love.

So, naturally, I smile. And I watch her as she reads on, warmed in the afternoon sun with me. But I know I need to write more because it's been awhile, but my perch is comfortable, I think. Closing my eyes on the familiar hum of subconscious duty, I think, this rest and view is paradise. A little longer...a littler more. Just a little while longer. More.

But then a hand grabs my forearm and I raise my eyes to see you and your cute playful frown. "Get up. You've lazed around enough. Come on. You can do it! Where is my promised sequel?"

Smirking, I had merely raised my head from its stolen perch and watched you gradually pull me across the white duvet for the edge.

I would do it for her, I realized, looking at her twinkling pair of dark éclairs. If its for her reading, review, or praises-

-and that single-dimpled smile I cherish most-

-I'd write somewhile.

And I rose.

From the bed I rose. The source of strength was not my own, but the breath of love passed from her lips into my chest like a rose's. Like fragrance, it's inescapable and clings, because we never flee from the desired and pursue the desirable.

Ah. I opened my eyes with the lingering recall of my echoed smile to her loveable dimple, and all I could say with a nostalgic smile are three lines thus:

It is easier to love a person than art.

Why?

They smile back at you.

August 28th, 2020

A/N: Edited- September 3rd, 2020