Roller coaster pillow couch. Water bottle barrier. Candlelight. Candelabra. Cannoli.
Little Italy graffiti and a cosmetic store with a line around the block. Marathon. Mastadon. Masturbate.
Settle into the fear and fight the fight in the mirror because we can’t handle the stuff in the hallway again. Twenty-eight years later it all comes right back up and the only thing we can do about it is learn how to not let it bubble up through the majestic and noisy water fountain bolted to the wall down by the library.
Books about being better. Toothbrushes attached to the wall. Change the faucet in the kitchen and make everything look different and call it calm. One appointment tomorrow. One appointment Tuesday. Flight Thursday. Flight Sunday. Run club. Gun club. Elephant drawing in the bathroom. From here we can only go forward. From here we can only get clear. From here. From here. From. Here.
My brain says write more. My fingers say this is enough.