Early Afternoon

"When I wake up, I'm willing to take my chances on the hope I
forget that you hate him more than you know,
Yes, I wrote this for you."

I've been waking up way too late or early these days.

I don't sleep the way I used to.

Restless and torn.

And it seems. I can't make it a day without a drink.
Is this what it means to be an adult?
An alcoholic?
A real fucking person?

This blog makes me feel like a neglectful father.

"Someday I'll appreciate in value, get off my ass and call you...
but for the meantime I'll sport my brand new passion for waking
up with pants on at 4:00 in the afternoon."

I feel New York pulse through me in a way I never have.
Not then. Not when I wrote. Every week.
Not when I was truly loved by a girl.
Not when I could tell people what I do and
Watch them sheepishly smile?

I won't lie. I didn't think I'd write in this again.
Thought I'd let it die here. Let all of this burn like cigarette ash.
Flick it into the tray made of all the things I mean but I never say.

But,

I heard this recently.

"The point of life is that it Ends."

Touche, Franz Kafka. Touche.

"Who do you carry that torch for, my young man?
Do you believe in anything?
Do you carry it around just to burn things down?"

I get it now though. I do believe.

I carry it for K. I carry it for A. I carry it for R.
I carry it for N. from NYC.

Thank you, Kafka. For the whiskey and conversation.

I leave you with this from R,

"I feel very strongly, N, That we need to be here right now. Living together.
Doing what we are doing. And I'm glad we are. And I'm glad to be here with you.
And I want to be better. So tell me when I can be. I expect that of you."