he walks alone through most walks of life.

i spend my life alone, i know that i do. and usually, i'm okay with this. and--it's my own making, i know that too, i do. i'm usually okay with it.

but then, there are those slim nights when suddenly, suddenly you slip and you just, forasecondthere, change your mind.

the next morning you will wake up less sober about the fact and brush it away. you're always so cheerful making sandwiches for one and practicing invisibility in the park. honing your way to disappear. it hurts but it's fun. i'm alright but it hurts.

after all, sunlight through the blinds.

but i can't hold it, it keeps still, fixed so i have to look at it. and squirm...it's a restless tear. walking the city at 4am not thinking too gravely about robbers and rapists. just that nothing is an open door, an open space, and there's no lights to let you turn the way, cross over. there's no place to sleep over or pass by with love--not for a person, anyway.

so you had relationships with brick buildings, and snapped twigs, and weeds along pavement, instead.

i wish i knew what i needed, and then maybe after that, how to go about reaching it. "my heart is very inconsistent," elizabeth wrote. my heart is very inconsistent.

and it's not going away.

so until the night, that night goes away.