Easter Saturday

I’m on the lightrail to Glendale. It’s nearing 11:50AM and I’m beginning to feel again. Too much or Too little, perhaps somewhere lost in between. Having very little to say, I had hopes they wouldn’t be mean. For whatever reasoning I had, as the past fifteen minutes killed any confidence I may have had. Better to be honest and have some writing material to show for time well spent or intricately wasted on the abstract that filled my mind throughout the calm silences of day to day motions, gestures and maneuvers that continuously phased and never bore. Goddamn, how troubled they were. I could sense it. Maybe because I had learned the secret and, sworn to secrecy, refused to share. I was, however, becoming more open to divulging these well kept mysteries given just the right time. We were close to downtown now, and I thought it was sweet you cared to know how my days had been and what I was concerned with. I wanted to say you, but jewelry sufficed. You understood and I learned to stop dissecting. Sometimes.

Still it was all very, shallow. While you may have wanted the shit more than me, I needed it more than you. In both respects, I knew we could do better. I always made an effort and could sense you put forth even more to keep me this optimistic. Noon finally came and the cigarette behind your ear became even more appealing. Lackadaisical eyes crossed over me, fell and rose, like ocean waves to end in spirals leaving this world behind. I wondered what you were thinking and if you were thinking of anything at all. You were. I remember feeling grateful for this. That you thought of me, and I could still spend Easter with my family. It was sweet of you and I’d already fallen for your sweeter side. Although my memories were oddly mixed like the dirty tie dyes of 1976, I felt no stronger pull on my heart than the one I shared with you. It didn’t need to give me any shred of hope, just simply a reminder of a recent conclusion I have made: you can’t forget your heart. Nor can you replace the foundation of its rhythm.

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