Rockefeller.

Good vs. bad. The conversation that you so desperately wait for. And the mendacity required to allow it. He moved to Chicago, he became a professor, and you were the one he wanted to talk to about it. The way that your eyes dilate, his sweet nature, the conversation that just couldn't happen under any other avenues. Is that how people do it? Do they compartmentalize their lives that way? Under the giant canopy and they began to play Amazing Grace and the sunglasses came down because it becomes impossible, at a certain point, to not equate that song on the pipes with tragedy and suffering. And you only understand it if you understand. Not yet willing to share that heavy load I retreat to the protection of the dark lenses and he makes a not-so-thought-out comment about wanting that played at his funeral and I feel a miasma of rage begin to rise. And that there is no way to explain that so that he'll understand. And how simultaneously I am sad for both of us at that realization.  I am so afraid of how I am not of these ones who settle their lives at 27 and they smile at you and tell you the story and they are always so nice, and behind your returned smile you can only think, my god, a chain around my ankle and attached to an anchor at mid-sea for your life. A woman without a country.

But actual real decisions need to be made. No they don't. It's such a fallacy, isn't it? We spend all of our days in the future and when those days finally come we are already ages hence. It is possible, to experience each thing, one at a time. It is. You are allowed to be many people at once so long as they're all allowed equal air time. You don't even go to church on Sunday and think that you need to explain yourself in any way to these other vessels. You are a soul, carrying around a body. Infinitely capable of emotion, sensation, stimulation. Just be that. And be comfortable in it.