Hi.  I wear briefs.  Alternatively, I am brief.  5 foot 6 in fact, and obnoxiously so.  Subsequently, I like to write short stories that end up seeming like long poems about contradictions.

That being said, the below may be read:

There’s once was a stage in my head, very big, and full of many actors, and corresponding madness of multiple methods.  There were no written scenes. How fitting.  As such, there had been much contention.

Now, I had tried many things to get this assortment of actors to gel…Tried drugs, alcohol, light music, loud music, soft music, soft touches, hard punches, love, jealousy, almost put hate in there once, that oddest of unifiers…Put those all in there, shook it around, and on rare occasions, the scene fell into place, and I could yell action.

Still, for the most part, no one seemed to agree.

Until one day – and it almost always seems like last week – I walked in there myself, within myself, and looked around, expecting to find the place teeming with ego.  Instead –

the sound

sunken breath coming from a young man – sweat in his bones, cuddled in the corner, lazy eye focused on me.

I helped him up.  We took a long unbegrudgeoned walk across the open ocean’s path, riding its echoes, retracing every broken leaf and dead end knee-bleed street, talking forever while the ghost dogs cried themselves to sleep.

“You’re really something else,” we said, at once both laughing down into our knees.

Until arose, and just I it seems, and ever since, just me.