Starting 2011
Had a dream about keeping champagne corks. Each marked with a new year. Greedy. Wanted decades worth. That was not to be. Leaving is the constant.
Drinking champagne, now. Here, in my room. It is black outside. Empty. I’m going to finish the bottle: for we shall not waste. I never said I was Good. Or that I knew the right things to do. I wasn’t enough. I’ve never been enough.
It doesn’t matter. Whatever and ever, amen.
I will finish this bottle and fold down to the futon, annihilating myself with sleep. Days will unfold. What I thought I was. The things I wished for. Tears in rain, baby. What’s lost…is, lost. A glass: emptied.
I don’t know what I am anymore. At this point, I don’t care. What I feel doesn’t make any sense. It doesn’t matter. Maybe I will dream that I am a butterfly — forget myself. Venus significat humanitatem.
Love.
I don’t understand. Don’t think I ever did.
Happy New Year.