The Slow Fade Of Love.

this year i read a book that everyone has read where the narrator locked herself in her bathroom each night. one night it got worse so she kneeled and put her forehead on the cool linolium and stretched her arms out way in front of her and spread her fingers. she described the way she sobbed, and i can’t remember the details now but when i read it, i understood it. i said, oh i think i know what that is.  but those feelings felt so far away, not a part of my todays and tomorrows. the sun was shining and i was just a child of the road.

then the bus made it’s way back east, and i drank a bottle of wine one night.  suddenly my feelings were hurt, and i was fumbling through my phone, calling west, calling north and no one could answer. i locked myself in a hotel bathroom and cried so hard that i sank to my knees. 

it’s funny how the low points change as you get a little older. it’s funny how i’m ashamed of them now. 

but anyway, it’s gotten better and i feel worse, like i’m cheating at the game. the things i’ve gotten away with just hang around, attached to my first name. i’m just bangin’ around in the suburbs, like a bug in some kid’s closed hands. and i’m learning how to be more quiet, i’m learning how to be a man.