Last Night

I was walking through the intersection of 11th and F. A married couple driving by in an SUV were nonchalantly smoking a joint, waiting for a man wearing a suit that costs more than his 1987 Buick Sable to pass through. Lincoln you magnificent bastard. I would of missed you like this, on your own terms, a few short months ago. Now I see what a cheap narcotic you are without her.

The protective masks of fifteen years are all gone, what is left now is the naturally intense man I've always been. Intoxicating clarity. Passion of all sorts but especially the moral, as after Whiteclay. I mind full of I must and we must and I want not spoken but screamed.

I have always been able to have my grandest dreams whenever I would have them, whenever I would accept the intensity and learn to act on it, live with it. I realize that now. I simply realize. There is no epiphany. No release or rush of revelation. The grandest dreams bring no solace. For it is spring and the time has come for the shy and timid to burn for what we don't have. The only solace is knowing that she will always have her own company. She can never possibly know what an acid burn it is to miss herself. My interior protection was always poison and a lie. Hers is real. I know that she will be safe and then I am calm again. She taught me that it's good to want. Now I see, as never before, that anything I could want is available to me in a tangible way . She is not. It's been so God Damned long since she's even been here. But she is safe.