The Moon is Full

I have a human heart.

This heart, is not at peace. It keeps stealing away the focus. Wanting to peek at the stupid mobile device. What is it you wanna see so much? It is all just people. People. So is that it?

Writing, maybe it wants. It wants. It wants but it can't. It can't stay. Still.

I now half-dragging it along. See? Let's sit here and tap away. Tap away madly to your content. Stop bothering the eyes. I know its you. Not them. They are curious twin. Not a doubt. But I know I can give them candies far better than what you are trying to get them to do right now. Stay with me.

Now, I, we have been reading. Quite a lot lately compared to 2012 when the world was cracking. We couldn't take in the words. They meant nothing. For they were all dark and deadly then. HUGE difference in the air surrounding us. All things were wrong. Insane. But they were in the past. They died.

We hide in books, don't we? If not, we will be jumping back into the head. In fact, I just snap out of it. We know all the secrets are in there. Life just had to get us away. We can't stop questioning and discussing. Making one conclusion after another. Then trash them. Then something comes up again. This circle, fool it may be, makes sense because the pain is always self-inflicted.

I made my way into the first chapter of Huckleberry Finn. Memory of it must have been erased, I sigh. How could I forget? This time, maybe I will sink into a clearer plane as the words transform into pictures and crash into the wider forehead. The words and language are a fun to read. So unconventional that I just wanna tap on the old man writing with his feather pen. Excuse me, sir. This is enjoyable. It even made my human heart all shiver-ie... He would smile back. Lick at the tip of his pen. And go back writing under his hunch.  

Ahh... how strangely friendly can a soul be? They hide behind their scripts and pull at the strings of hearts let lose in deep hypnotism.

I can't wait for night to fall and the full moon to rise. Then can I open up to another chapter of Einstein. To have him looking from my bed, I have to tell him to wait. There will be a time. A time for anything. And for a wonderfully self-full thing like him, time will always be eagerly ticking. No absolute time you say, eh? I will trust Isaacson for as long as he keeps me counting.  

My restless heart, will you cheer up... and make peace for the soul on a full moon?