This side of paradise recalls whole lunar eclipses putting their heads on my shoulder as I walk down streets at 2am in a drunken stupor. Lights pass heavily through emptied windows of buildings that hold so much life, yet life cannot thrive there. What a dream it would be to explore the lonely hallways of offices and schools and homes and business when there is no activity besides that of a cigarette smoking delinquent who decides to lay on the ground where so many have walked,, musing conversations about bullshit or something moving, feeling the inanimate walls overwhelmingly inanimate. From there, thoughts of needing to get warm would guide me back to the streets to my car. Nowhere else to go. This isn't my city. I don't belong. I don't belong anywhere except in my bed. Sadness then fills my chest as nothing but the desperate hope to lay my head reminds me why I both see the moon chase me in my car and why I trace my finger ahead as though I were winning a race, and id smile, bundled in layers of blankets, about beating the horizon to morning.
3:17am
Apr. 28 2018
