Goodbye

Sometimes I get that funny feeling-- when I'm alone, when I'm tired, when my eyes are closed. It's like everything slows down, maybe just a little. When your clothes ruffle slower, but your eyes can move just fine. They can dart to the side and catch a moth floating in midair, no flapping, just floating. Mesmerized by heat, there is no constant to his life--except the end.

Because what is really constant other than the end? Well, the beginning you can argue, but who's a cynic? Sure, you can argue for love, but love may only come once in many lives, sometimes disguised as a rogue liver, beating to the music of a tainted heart.

Your eyes dart to the other side and your room is just this mess. This mess of your life, not in a negative aspect in any sort of way, just this vortex of who you are--or were. What you live in is what you are, really don't give me any of that food bullshit. If you're messy, you're eccentric; if you're clean, you're organized. Because when you clean your room, you always have to focus. No matter how silly or stupid that seems, it always occurs to you that you have to focus.

Anyways, I'm leaving this Saturday to Maryland, so if you would like to stop by or give me a call, I hope you will. I guess this is my end or even my beginning, but once I get up there hopefully I'll focus this mess of my life and stay away from that damn heat.