last night, as fever waxed and waned through my body, thoughts of the ages of our souls came up. perhaps delirium from the combination of black tea and cold medicine fueled it: thoughts that seemed poetic and justified just ended up as forgotten as silence. we are old souls in an old apartment on an old street; we are old friends. monsters and idiots are haunting my dreams, products of eating too late at night and that rediculous anxiety over whether someone is going to smash a glass on the floor or over our heads. i no longer feel sorry for the situation: fact is, i NEVER did. so ha ha.
i gave many a thing to many a person; you've got to give to get back; but i never got back, really. this time around is different. there has never been more understanding. balanced and creative and perfect.