Shadows on the Wall

The only internet signal i could receive was on my window sill. The rain poured down like a cold shower and the lightning flashed making shadows on the wall in front of me, a metaphor for the person I thought I was months ago; quick flashes of vividness and life to disappear so quickly as to be unsure if the image ever met the eye to begin with, or simply formed in my mind tricking my brain with each flash of light. The drops hit the ground like rockets, draining into the gutter to be washed into the sea with the entities of everything intended to be cleansed; a mere contributor to the ocean of existence as we know it, my thoughts to be written and read.
I could feel the heat from coming from the living room, and swirling with the cold, wet air from outside, and the two temperatures almost balanced each other out in harmony so as to force me to close my eyes for a moment.
Its Christmas night in Israel and taking place about 50kms from here, there are amazing festivities and lights... an entity of America I thought I would never miss. Regardless, we are separated from the festivities by a 15 foot concrete wall, with good reason of which I will not divulge to avoid offending people who can't accept the void between what is and what should be. I hate Christmas carols, and I hate that Los Angeles has a power issue yet no one sees a problem with covering their houses with light bulbs. "The right to the pursuit of happiness." Let me throw this out there for a moment. So Bruce is quite happy with the way his house looks, and so is Steve indeed, but Moshe couldn't give a shit and all of a sudden his electric bill is $3000. Call me Scruge, but for fuck sake where is the common sense? Light a candle and shut the fuck up, unless you live in Malibu and you run the risk of burning down the city; Turn on a light and look at it for a while. I'm sure you can satisfy your need for sparkly things by smoking a J in exchange for costing the populace for your gaudy decorations. No offense... not that I could care any less.
My cell phone sits on the counter in front of me, silent, and something in me is either hoping or expecting it to ring. I begin to stare off into the rain hitting my window.
My most recent irresponsible escapade of love and misguided expectation has unofficially led to the unfortunate reality of being snuffed out of my usual social circles, and as a result of this period of unintended isolation, I've occupied my thoughts with the most beautiful prospect I've realized thus far. At this moment my ideal situation is about as tangible as the shadows cast on my wall. I'm not discouraged though, because 'what is' and what 'will be' are in some way parallel and intricately combined, but completely blind to one another; and almost invisible to our understanding.
My attention is quickly taken by Ray Charles, my chosen ring-tone, blasting from my phone at 3am... and tonight I will happily answer it and I won't even bother to check the caller ID, simply to see what will be.
Sure enough, its a very pleasant surprise, and after an intriguing conversation about the future, it is decided that I have something amazing to look forward to in the weeks ahead, and my focus will lie with these prospects until what 'will be,' 'is'... and indeed, what will be, will be.


"There are as many pillows of illusion as flakes in a snow-storm. We wake from one dream into another dream."
-Ralph Waldo Emerson