Sometimes, I wish I could splatter my soul's essence onto a wall. Tag it like a graffiti artist at night. Then, my soulmate could wander by and go, "well, shit, there he is." And we'd melt into the cement's cracks as one, living among the city underground and sliding to the top of towers and skyscrapers. Kiss under the rolling clouds. Drift along the river's surface under a full, heaving Harvest Moon.
Sometimes, I wish I could pour my thoughts onto a page. Like tipping a can of paint onto a canvas on the floor. Colors spreading out. No edit. Just Pure Thought. The god inside throws up and out of my body, and the world (and I) could see clearly what I want to give. I would frame and hang the canvas on my wall, stand back and examine it (one hand on chin, the other around a chilled glass of wine); I'd discover me and interpret and re-interpret the Meaning of Me. My self, Myself, and my Soul. Maybe then I'd be better able to critique and understand me.
Then, I would actually start Living.