Sunday 7/31/2016 11:32:00 PM

I don't thnk love has anything to do with it. It's just a byproduct of desperation. We're gatherers by nature. We collect things. They comfort us. We collect people and places the same way insects gather shit. It's the same.

We don't grow old. We begin to fade. The wind starts to die and our banners go limp.

I don't know why we're together. We don't belong here. Random lives that happened to stall on the same desolate highway. I don't understand why we touch. Feeling only nothing as we do. Unless this emptiness is the temptation.

Except that this is the end. The flesh is soiled. The fuse is spent. And the fire we remember has all but forgotten us.

We don't speak. There are no words. We exchange our poisons and hope for the best.

I loved once. Very briefly. It was bright and rich. All meat. No bone.

Like every love it was overly confident up until the very instant it was broken.

By then it was too late. We were too hopeful to reason with.

Life stumbled toward us. Small and loud and furious. All kettle drums and poker faces. Sinew and skeletons on a casual collision course.

I loved once. It was quick and harsh and unsympathetic. All lightning and thunder. And over before I could say it had begun. Sudden and impotent. And it hurt. It still does.

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