Shine...

Ahhh Den.

You are so good to me some times.

But sometimes I miss you when I'm there.

What can I do about it though?

There is so much going on in my mind sometimes. I just want to flee to you, but I know that isn't going to happen. So I just enjoy the city for what it is worth.

There is always so much going on, even when there is nothing going on. I can sit here and write, and know that there is a teeming throng of humanity so close that I can hear and taste and touch it. It moves, and I long to move with it. I know that there will be something missing the instant I'm here, but I think that there is enough of the white noise and beauty to distract me from that. I think there is just enough going on that I might just be able to drown out the alone time.

The time with no kids.

The time with no you.

The time with just an empty bed and the hustle of noise.

Sip of wine.

Drag of smoke.

Back to words, and hoping against hope that the knock on the door will be you. That by some magic you have decided to make your way here. That you made a trip just to see me. We would sit and listen to music all night. Head against chest, arms around torsos, small gentle kisses, and sleep. Fucking beautiful sleep.

I'm listening to The Gaslight Anthem right now.

Another sip of wine.

Another cigarette.

I cough and pray that god hears my prayers. This smoke is the incense from my lips. I'm begging now. Give me this place, give me this stability, give me this hope that one day I can be a real person again. I'm tired of living on others, and their generosity. I want to be free again.

"And we sing with our heroes thirty-three rounds per minute
We're never going home until the sun says we're finished
And I'll love you forever if I ever love at all
Wild hearts, blue jeans, & white t-shirts"

-The Gaslight Anthem.

I just turn the music up and try not to be jealous of all the people going home to some one. Someone that isn't me. Fuck some days.

Listen to the buses. They are moving the working class. People like me.

Even more wine.

Hear the jets. They are going somewhere else. I want to be on them.

More cigarettes. On this stoop, look at the sky that has no stars. The stars are all down here in this city. Shining from the sides of skyscrapers. In the studios on Capitol Hill. They are looking out over the city from the far east of Colfax. I'm sure that I'm one of them, but tonight, I don't know that I shine. Tonight I go home to no one.

Tonight that breaks me.

Just tonight though.

File under Vice