There are lights glinting over me in the darkness. The moon. not full. bright. in a rare clear sky. a treusyre.
the light in a window of your ex's ex. the light in a bedroom window of someone who you know, a little. that one is just the street light glinting off the corner of my glasses, but for a second… it bought it was something else.
the moon.
my own bedroom light. shining out the hall window.

It is light out and as I walk home in the morning light I love everyone. This child's swing clanging against my thigh. My stomach sick. It is 4:30am and I have drunk too much for a baby but not enough for a sunrise. but enough to get me home with a new friend named William from Sudan who Thinks I am beautiful. Because look at me, I am god damned beautiful. and  a sour taste in my mouth and a the knowledge that we all love each other and the ponds will warm.

Womance

How is it that we have not yet figured out how to be in love? As a species, it seem to be all we can focus on and yet....we suck at it. We love the swell and the romance and the nervous certainties at the onset and then we all display signs of Compulsive Repetitive Disorder (that exists, right?) when it gets fussy or we get tired or someone actually asks something of us.

How is it that we all know SO MUCH. seriously. I am say that with no sarcasm. We are all bloody genuii when it comes to humanity but still so confusedly doing the same dumb mediocre things to each other over and over again. Listening to most people at their best I hear at least a lasting novel's worth of insight and compassion and wit and empathy and great analogies, yet in our next sentences we are ruining our lives with an impatient, unexamined "truism" like, "Well, I can't wait around forever, can I!?" or the more fundamental, "What the fuck? is s/he fucking retarded or something?"

I do not do any better I am afraid. I hope to, but, for now, I may just listen to the rain and do another crossword and imagine a world in which I always say the right thing in conversations and just shaking my hand leads to better sex and more ease and creation. I still love Love, and, tonight, I love this town (actually, I always love this town) and a few people in and away from it, but I maul the very thoughts I have of love through ignorance at how to proceed smoothly and without my petty bones dragging it all over the forest floor.

My Right

Why do I love MadMax and hate anyone who uses "DH"?