I like to think I live in an abandoned old librarians office as I see the decorations gather dust and I musn’t trust to wipe the cobwebs away.

Only look off and gander at greater solitudes or indifferences. Blue hydrangeas smell of a new wife and I stare at them outside my window wondering when it will be my time. Do the choir bells justice. And my mother proud. If my father contends, so be it.

Crazy to think I’ll be a quarter by this year. All so similarly I’ve gotten old and this sickness is all I’ve gotten left of. I did good in-between too good and it bit me in the ass every time and not a day goes by those stressors get to me.

Yet, I’ve been very present.