Turn My Head

Bliss comes in far too few fashions to be able to recognize it before it's on top of you. When the door opens and the lips on your face keep in stride with the moment, you know that it has you. You're not quite sure how it crept up on you like it did; being caught in the mystery makes it what it is. And though as it has happened before you can never quite duplicate it, this humbles you and forces you to see that this moment is still happening, and though more will follow, this one is happening now.


The auctioneering functions of the mobile to mobile device I carry at my side so intrinsically may frustrate me beyond belief. It's as if my time and attention is up for the highest bidder. Do I continue with my conversation or interrupt it for a fanciful new beginning that will undoubtedly result in a disgruntled user closing the phone in angst. And yet I don't go many places without it, I suppose my hippocracy goes only so far.