The only thing I can compare to is that time we fed those geese hallucinogens.

Those fowl quickly transformed into black and white lawn darts, exploding into catastrophic fluffy clouds of plumage.

The kamikaze honks they made forever pierced my soul that day.

I still shudder every time I pass by an outdoor wedding.

I wanted to be the strong one.
The yanker of the band aid with the quick pull, not the one with the wound it was concealing.

How I wish you would cave first reaching out to me if only to say hello.

But I knew you wouldn't be .

The conviction in your eyes wouldn't allow that.

Im left obsessively checking my phone for the message I know is never going to come.

Fighting myself to not think about you, distraught why you're  not thinking about me?

It must of been the summer the Schuykill  unearthly ignited into flames from an errant cigarette, discarded by an eel fisherman into the effluent runoff from Mr. Oink-full's Scrapple  plant.

Do you remember that evening? Night air cumbersome and pungent, brimming with the smell of burnt feathers and piercing quacks. All those fateful mallards drowning in flames upon the boiling river rotisserie. Blazing ripples dancing in a stunning kaleidoscopic noxious borealis.

While entranced in this sight, it was with a tap on the shoulder from  the Manayunk Marbler that would indelible reshape my belief in interconnected theory.

Don't use the soap MeMa gave  you for Christmas.

Strong suspicion shes supporting that crazy creepy cult that resides in the  basement of the old abandoned tire factory.

When used it rapidly dissolves leaving you with a handful of painted marbles,  Jesus's face on one side, "ready to clean your soul?" on the other.

Equal parts disturbing and ridiculous to be cleaning the naughty bits with a fistful of divinity.

It’s all ******* bits and pieces this existence of ours while we ride this ever spinning crazy world we inhabit, that’s just the thing, even if we are complete ******* it just keeps on rolling through the cosmic plane, the penny you left on the train tracks derails the railcar full of medical supplies for sick dyeing orphans, you wipe your genitalia on the boss’s keyboard knowing that in time his face will smell like *****, unloading your loneliness with displacement on the little blue hair taking too long to count change at the grocery check out.

It  doesn’t matter, none of it ever matters, the world’s not going to stop, not even going to slow and pause for breath, and nobody cares about your problems. But sometimes you find someone, someone so incredible special, someone who seems to understand, someone who really gets you, and for a little while its better, we can lie there in the dark and promise never to leave each other, we have someone to hold onto, someone who proves we exist, at least for a little while anyway.

It’s how you interconnect these bits and pieces, these singular moments into the mosaic of your reality.