This is ever fresh.
The ever freshness, is however this appears to be. It could feel stale and tired and old and that would be the ever freshness. Fancy that? Liberation, newness, freshness. These words might appear like things to acquire. Something to have. Something for me. This. What is. What appears to be happening. Cannot be had. Though is also the apparent attempt to have it. By saying it’s ever fresh makes it seem like something to have. So I’m sorry for that. I have thoughts about not saying a word till suddenly.... something that I appear to be writing is ‘ever fresh’. I’ll take it back if it’s a problem. Call it ‘ever coffee’. Cos it doesn’t feel like ever freshness. It feels like whatever feelings appear. Feelings slide into the soup of everything. And really no words are needed. Still my love I know you’d make something out of silence. This recognition is the end of anything that can be recognised. The end of that sentence meaning anything. The relaxation into what is as what is. Just all falls away. Relief. All gone. And yet...coffee...woohoo. It’s right now pouring through as senses As whatever it is, however that is. And it’s not an it’s. Sorry baby. Incomparable everything. Unrecognisable nothing. That’s the killer really That it’s the seeking also. The nearly there. The had it and lost it. ALLLLLLLL of those. The very close. Who would prove to you darling that you were home. There is no other or you. Oooh ahhh Elastically perfectly as whatever is however that is. If you were doing the seeking my love you would surely be able to stop anytime you wanted.
The brakes don’t work. Just seems like they do. The only love really is to say that it’s already over. Already no one. No one seeking baby. So then no one left to find. Perhaps those words are the only true love. Love. Hard to believe that when loves dies that’s all that remains. Sorry did I say love. I meant to say coffee. Coffee is what remains.
Unrecognisable anything. Coffee. Love. love.
Love will do.