42 Plus Plus Plus

There they were again, the double digits on my clock, 11:11; 1:01; 8:08; 14:14 Should they be significant? I. Don't. Know. Someone once told them they were. In a freaky kind of way, but I don't pay much mind. It is just kind of unnerving sometimes, glancing at a clock. seeing those digits. I sigh yet again, because looking at clocks takes me someplace and sometime else. I have found myself glancing at the time less for an entirely different reason. Anvil feeling within me now, when before it was more like a feathery feel. Going to that place where I want to knock on your door. In fact, I almost did today but I unclenched my fist as my knuckles almost hit the wood It's not that I don't want to, more like I feel you don't want me to. And even if I did, I find myself expecting that you won't open the door, not that I don't have faith... You see, expecting is different from hoping. Where expectations come from logic, the mind and from what you've so far shown, I have come to expect that the door remains shut. Playful sadness, coldness, sighness. But I still hope, since that comes from the heart. Damn it. The perennial hopeful in me. Am I foolish? Stupid? So be It. At least I have faith, hope...love. My fuel each day. Speeding along on track number 4. Numbers running, running, flying spanning greater distances between us, and I feel that gap even more so now. Numbers climbing, climbing each day but there's one set of numbers that I am hoping one day to see go up, not stopping there. 42 plus plus plus.