There are quite a few stars up there. I spent several nights this week chasing them a few thousand feet higher, never quite satisfied that I’d seen enough. They tend to elude my gaze more oft than not. Shooting stars of the Perseid variety. Scorpio is moving on in the expanse and I feel more exposed when it’s not in view, but I suppose it’s always there.

I’ve been slowing down a bit lately, though my lower gears are by no means lax. Truthfully, I still go pretty hard in those post eve hours. Life has been busy about me; friends losing lovers and kin, rumors and tremors abounding around me. I spend time with people whose company I enjoy, and they tell me I’m wanted (where others knew not.)

“It’s lonely at the top.” they say. I say ‘more so at the bottom’. I watch as lovers walk by holding hands, locking eyes, smiling warmly, moving closer as they pass me by. Tell myself I just need to be patient, wait a little while and hope… I suppose. Does seem hopeless though, the girls I’ve seen have been dismally disparate from what I think I need or want. One still stalks and slanders me, one is a junky and yet another a meth addict. So, maybe… I mean it’s possible that my selection process is fundamentally flawed. For that reason I’m alone, and I see a few pretty ones from afar; think to myself, “wait and watch.” See what she’s like for a little bit, because if I don’t, they end up hitting me pretty hard.

Courtship seems direly tedious at this age. We basically know what we want, who we are and how much we can stand; but we don’t know how long it might last. Personally I’ve resolved myself to believe that love won’t last forever… Honestly I think it’s an escapist cop-out to think it’s not eternal. Realistically, having been married for over a decade, I know that people can change (for better or for worse.)

I like to think that I’m willing to get hurt again, but the old wounds fester in my hide. And I wonder how much illness should I tolerate as I convalesce? In any case, I don’t think that desperation has saved many souls nor hearts. So I’ll go to sleep soon, and it’s strange because I haven’t slept alone in quite some time. That’s not to say that I’ve been slutty, I haven’t, I just happen to have friends that don’t mind my perfunctory presence. It’s nice when there are no actual expectations after the lights dim. It is not, however, romantically fulfilling; nor is casual sex. I don’t know how they do that (not saying I haven’t had an odd occasion or two), but I get emotionally involved where I’ve dabbled* and I haven’t the capacity to disassociate my heart from my flesh.

Tomorrow is a new day, a new job, another opportunity to say something sweet to a girl I’d like to know. I don’t know her name, her face is a phantasm, her voice a trembling whisper in the distance. I do know that I’ll find her footprints out there somewhere, and somehow she’s going to allow my path to intersect her meandering. I don’t know how she’ll tolerate me, not the smell, not the heat, but the intensity. Like a nuclear lamp, I’ll burn white hot for decades yet. Though I’m not the beast of yesteryear, I’ve quite some distance to cover yet. So I’ll put on my shoes and I’ll walk, see you around.


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