I do not deny that I apply meaning to much of what I experience, and as a consequence of being young and a hard motherfucker, I’ve suppressed it. I ignored the obvious. In human terms, I would have been in love with someone so beautiful it hurt, and fallen hard, had I allowed myself to do so. I allowed rationality to win in an attempt to be reasonable. Such bullshit, if you understand the concept of embracing the moment. The moment is all that a finite being has. It is a waste to realize this in one’s twilight years. Worse yet is slipping in and out of personality as a classic example of hot-cold behavior. Textbook being.

Would have fallen in love had we only met? Lord. You were there, brother. You were there long before you came to terms with yourself and lost her. Forgive this simpleton, o god of man. Forgive this broken-winged bird, forgive his endless calls and pithy chirps. He is a bull in the emotional china shop. Love! Distance! Sex! Attachment! Melancholy foundations crumble at the first sign of something better. Someone better, someone fuller. Someone with more years and an improved sense of self.

Jesus, it’s cold out here. That barmaid will give herself to the first man to treat her like a human being. This cigarette tastes like shit. These sophomoric activities do not comfort. My only desire is to demonstrate that I’m the better man—The best.