Reality is sometimes easier to understand in its cruel beauty. I know this first-hand now. I feel it. The sting is tough to handle. The burning saliva it offers is steaming hot. Undeniable pain. Grief of sorts hits me. Death at my center. Breathlessness in my lungs. I no longer feel alive.
Once at home I close all the windows, pull all the blinds, and block out the city and the rest of the world, particularly what’s happening next door. I put on the air conditioner for the first time this season and watch TV until I fall asleep on the sofa. I don’t dream of Tool or Honey or a vintage Nova that needs repairs. I don’t think about tools or pizza or beer. I don’t imagine men smoking pot together or fingertips touching a thigh. Sleep finds me. Hard and long sleep. I’m alone. My days from now o
