morning, i woke up and read the following text message "if there is anything worse than chlamydia, it's florida"
what a greeting what a way to start a day and that in florida! i lost all energy to come out of bed.
then i went to work, put my hand on the door knob and for a second realized i have been doing the same thing every morning for the past 6 years and like sinking lead i felt my whole being falling to the ground. but i picked myself up and stepped in, greeted my fellow chemists and moved to my desk. i started staring at the monitor decided to make coffee and have breakfast since i did not have time to eat it at home. i had made some oats flax seeds and soymilk which had turned into a weird mix upon cooling.
it took me three hours to finish it; a breakfast not broken so fast.
anyway, then after lunch, brunch, breakfast, we gathered and said goodbye to a colleague leaving the lab after a whole lot of years....
goodbyes.
goodbyes are irreversible.
i am still at work. reducing data. writing blogs. listening to music. crying. occasionaly realizing the fall and picking myself up up and up to fall again.
and fall and fall. each time the well growing deeper and more mysterious.
goodbyes are irreversible.

Say.

It has kept generations of people busy in their caves in their tents in their courtyards now in their concrete cubicles sitting in front of machines you animate giving them power to evaluate human thought-trees written in signs and symbols unintelligible to most living creatures.
But this one thought process does not require long hours of iterations.
So... what is it going to be?

You, a book
a book
written in a language
with a cover so familiar
I flip your pages
I feel your tears
I smell your letters
a book's language
not in letters
not in ink
not in pictures
from trees
rooted across
mountains and lakes
witness of
sun rises and sets
you carry a lifetime
in your lines and
silences
your language
not in words
nor in punctuation
your tears
your cuts
your bends
speak of people
young and old
rich and poor
of love affairs and anger
of frustration and satisfaction
of laughter and teardrops
of days long gone
and to come.
a book,
you are; now mine.
and in my hands
waiting to be filled
with scribbles and such.
Oh book, my book
yours-to-be