and a rush of feelings!
I go off like a million roman candles, the irony of it all, was less then an hour ago she's talking about everyone having a breaking point and then we find mine...once again.
To say it mildly, the last three months of my life have been an exhausting whirl wind of trust and understanding. At the very least, I've developed a new form of patience that would draw the envy of Kindergarten teachers, and at the very most I have the components for a truly amazing story.
Stumbling through the Miami streets last night, singing songs from a simpler time, and sipping on hobo wine. I came to understand very little but I saved myself from saying the things that would never be undone. This delicate flower, it grows, and some days its thorns plunge deep into the flesh of the unsuspecting lover. She bleeds and then again so do I. The point is, through our friendship we pick one another up and attack the problem head on once we regroup. Hahaha! Somewhere round my third brown bag I'm not thinking about that at all, I'm just thinking about all the selfish actions, and then the gull that is dumped over me at every single serious conversation.
This is my life, some of my closet tell me to take charge of her but I'm more content watching someone dig a crater. Because at some point, you can only tell someone the same thing 294238705029834 times before you start to share the psychosis and last night I caught wind of something foul.
So I did what I do best and just walked. I gave a hobo warm beer and I broke into a couple abandoned venues. Scribbled madness all over my notebooks and howled at the moon with something fierce in the back of my throat. Tried to play with two fire extinguishers but they were broken. Pissed off the top of a parking garage and sang allowed "the day I tried to live". I texted with an angel for a bit and flirted with what life could be like if I wasn't a simpleton.
It all ended with me breaking into the house the workers were "guarding". I use that word loosely, since I was smashed, made a ton of noise, and some how still got inside. Once inside I surveyed all the work done since my explosion and thought about mixing up all the boxes out of spite. Don't know if I was just to drunk to muster up the strength or if I truly understand the crazyness that rattles around in her head. I uncorked some wine that was left in the fridge, scribbled some more in a book, and passed out on a black couch. I have passive aggression down to an art form, judges gave me a 9.8, and no one got hurt. A lot better then I use to be but then again I'm told it's all relative.
There are more nice things to say and I'll write them soon enough. For now...I need a lot of water!