I think about there lives and why they are not returning home until one in the early morning. what jobs they most hold that keep them out so late, what bar they spent that particularly chilly September night in. I am not judging my night may not have been any better.

except; mine was better, the faint and gentle repetition of my lover's breathing is like the soundtrack of the night, the song that you put on after a long day. My love moves in her sleep, and like a fish in a bigger ocean, I have learned to sway with her.

How long must these words be sad, how long can your page be a domicile for the "broken and the lonely"

paint the walls a lively color, let the light break through the blinds into a room that was once filled with your ideas. back when there was much more to your story. "nothing much" was never your answer now its your sedentary lifestyle. the trails bend for you, the air stays crisp on top of the mountain. Maybe it's just time to make the climb.

imagine building this story in your mind, the story itself is not the most important part, more so the time spent on every detail. You imagine its October and you are sitting on the back ledge of your lovers apartment, feet dangling  between the railing, with a cigarette in your left hand and a cup of something warm in the right. Imagine making enough dialogue for short film.

Imagine flipping through the four pages that had just been printed, neatly double spaced in bold black print, now imagine taking those sharp cornered four pages, crumbeling them into a mishsappen ball and dropping it carlessly into the trash. **I Make It Tough to Write

I like to be alone.

Such a simple phrase, yet it has been one of the hardest things for me to accept about myself.

the night is blanker then the streets on the early mornings leading to Christmas. Yet there in the hearts of children, the world is active. Hopes of a greater tomorrow beat on like that of a drunk on the door to the lady who just locked him out. eventually he will quit but they will never forgot what once was.

My friends remember their hopes, I never shut the door on mine.