timeless: having no beginning or end; not restricted to a particular time or date; 

not affected by time

So I recently found an old note I wrote. That still applies. That idea makes me happy mostly because writers should strive to be timeless. Communication and emotion have existed before us and after us: we should try and stay relevant, for ourselves if not for anyone else. Being able to look back and say parts of me are so engrained and can remain unchanged even when your surroundings are unfamiliar.

"Lately I've felt my mind has all these thoughts that are waiting to come out but I've been blocked lately. So I'm taking my thoughts one at a time. 

New York will always seem so beautiful to me after the rain. It's a city equated with opportunity, hustle and glamour yet when it rains, everything seems humbled. The glamour gets traded in for awkward city smells, the hustle gets exchanged for hurried legs trying to avoid puddles and the only opportunity people want is the one that means they get to go home. 

I've never been one to flat out believe in God. I prefer to believe in real things, to give into real things. My imagination often gets the best of me and I'd rather not fill my head with illusions of grandeur. But the rain... makes me believe that something bigger than me is keeping me safe. That's one virtue I can believe in: the one of comfort. The comfort of arms that'll keep you safe, the comfort of sweet dreams after a long trying day, the comfort that the rain makes you seek. Nights like this, when New York city cries, give way to mornings when all I want to do is seek shelter underneath my sheets. My eyes will open and scan the room, letting my body know its okay to not move. 

I've never actually sat and speculated what Heaven must look like. I doubt it is full of people dressed in all white. All white clothing makes me uncomfortable; I always worry about spilling: who wants to worry about spilling Jesus juice on their nice all white suit in Heaven? No one at least not me. But I always imagined Heaven sounding like raindrops on my air conditioner. Or raindrops hitting a concrete puddle. It sounds like someone telling me my life is okay at this moment. It's someone telling me to appreciate the warmth that my bed offers with no one but me in it. On rainy days being alone in my bed is just fine. But wouldn't it be nice to be able to share that warmth with someone? Even if it happens to be on the couch during the afternoon.

People underestimate the power of lonely. The way that a lack of affection can make you feel. Human Beings are not meant to be alone, we are social beings. Some people say that people were born alone; but they neglect to mention they are born through another person. Women particular in my opinion are not meant to be alone. Our bodies once we mature are made for two people. My body is meant to be home to a baby at some point in the future, it's meant to receive attention, it wants to be close to another person. Around me I see people I care about succumbing to feelings more powerful than them. And I know they can believe in God. Or believe in something that can feel so real. And I can't help but wonder why instead of giving into something, I keep running into some kind of wall. And all I want to do is let the rain completely drench me until I feel brand new. Until I can feel the way New York sounds during rain: peaceful. 

I always imagine people huddled under umbrellas, underneath storefronts. All avoiding the same thing. That no matter how hard they try the rain will land on them. The truth will always touch you; no mater how small it may seem. So what's my truth? I think I place too much importance on romance. Romance in the way that rain will always seem like something more than rain to me, or how I notice the smallest details that make you so unique. I will always believe I'm a hopeless romantic with a preference of cynicism. Good things happen and I believe they can happen yet not for me. But I believe in rain. I believe that the way clouds cry is reminiscent of the way I cry when I'm alone in my room. I believe that everything is connected, that the world is only as big as your impact and that the universe is endless. My childhood consisted of 9 planets, yet my adulthood consists of 8. So I'd rather believe in the way that water feels hitting my palm rather in galaxies I could never wrap my head around. 

I want, not what I see, but rather what I feel. My poems are museless, faceless, titleless, but they dont lack emotion. But poems sound different , feel different when they're attached. It's not that theres this spacious void, or anger... rather there are words with no order, poems waiting to be felt before they can be written. Maybe that's why I feel blocked. 

Rain could be a person. But that's a stretch of my imagination. I want eyes that sparkle the way tar does after a storm, I want hands that feel like thunder, I want the warmth and safety that you feel pretending that your responsibilities lead you right back to your bed into the arms of what heaven must feel like on its best day.

"

i wonder what is the opposite of time?

anacaona