The Solitary Piano Probably Is Weeping
Sometimes you wish you had long sleeves. So you could just roll them back and face what's to be faced and things would seem alright, or at least slightly warmer. But what if that long sleeve shirt was already soaked in extremely cold waters? Waters that were salted with human sweat and indignity? Guess you'd be up the proverbial creek without a paddle and whatnot.
Hawks though, would somehow find you and your mate, nesting in a tree high above the plains in the forest of insecurity. There'd be a lot of eggs but they'd be busted, broken, and shelled. Hard boiled would be the best death penalty at this point. You could yearn for something more fruitful but the -less suffix would take over.
Reality is an amazing thing. Sometimes it sets in with different weights and tackles your mind regardless of numbness and solitutide. I think back to so many thoughts and places and settings and things and people and fucking more "and's" than you can shake a stick at and (irony aside mind you) I just fucking wonder. Wonder what would be and what could be. But the is, is so much better than anything else and I thank the heavens for its wonder-tude. Bubbles in your glass, glass to the mouth, drink, gulp, gulp--you've just ingested more heartache than you'll ever know. One day, maybe, but it's fucking doubtful.
What would life be like on medications 24/7? I think I'd hate it. I'd succumb to the wonderment of modern 'medicine' and allow my liver to tell my long tales and proverbs.
There are split seconds when my awesome son stares right at me, boasts a huge smile, and shoves his fists in his mouth that I totally melt. That my friends is what it is all about. The rest is fortitude and longitude and latitude and the Prime Meridian of Servitude and whatnot. A simple hug and a kiss, an understanding, a family, this is all that I've ever wished for, and I have it. How fucking lucky am I? Don't answer that, because I shudder the retort. His hope and glee should never surrender to the whims of society, doubts of mankind, or thoughts of a higher intelligence. Weakness and virginity is honestly strength, though strength wants to become the hardiness to forget all about the aforementioned afflictions and to subscribe to a novel of hard bumps and solid retardedness.
I want to play the violin. The end.