A Day In The Life

Classical music. He shakes his ears and we head downstairs in a protest of groans and creaks and snapping joints. The ritual begins and it's out the door for him and coffee for me and a heater plugged into the wall to warm the room and my mood and the somnambulistic journey is near its end and the eight hours ahead of me loom pendulously like a hammer waiting to fall. Waiting to strike. It's who I am right now baby, back to it. Snapped out of those thoughts. The ride over. Back like a ton of bricks but it's morning pleasantries and the same papers begin their cyclic dance in and out and around and over and over again. Adderall. More coffee. Hello, hello, hello. To the end, to the end, to the end.

This route we're on. I'm floating and my drug is thoughts of the future. Lost in the occasional daydream. The question he asked me last week, was he serious? He waited until the edge was off and he asked it four times, all in slightly different ways. And what he proposed and the calculations to it all made me believe that he had been thinking of it for some time indeed. I will journey to the end consumed in sacred ground with you, these footprints we leave like whispers to each other after the lights are off, and a smile, and your warmth, this is the very definition. And I never thought it would sneak up like this.

Yes.