My favorite month is upon us. I love October. I never want it to end. I cling to it for dear life every year like I were clinging to a fence post in a hurricane. It rained last night. So I got drunk and walked around after it stopped. I like the way the wet concrete glistens under the streetlights. The cool damp air made me miss you. I think too much. That is my biggest problem.

It is starting to get cold again. I mean, nothing major, just a small postcard from winter telling me it is on its way.

You are the words that are never spoken. You are the things that get lost and are always missed. You are the answer to a question that remains on the tip of the tongue, but the teeth just cannot seem to pin down. You are the smell of the air in winter on a cold December evening. You are the sound of a house settling as everyone sleeps soundly. You are the face of understanding when hope is all but lost. You are the darkness around the stars. Yeah, without you, they would be nothing, and even though they get all the glory you still never complain.  You are the emptiness that lurks in that place beyond the streetlights where we pass a little more quickly as we walk home alone at night. You are the mural on a ceiling that people only notice once the artist has passed away. Your beauty is the mark that even angels cannot reach. They fly around up there in heaven, whispering in envy.

People often say, “Life is what you make of it.” I think that is very true and well, I suppose this is the result one gets when he is neither ambitious nor particularly creative.

You know, I used to think that I wanted to grow old with someone. I used to think that if I met the right person, I would be happy. I realize what a crazy thought that was. There is no such thing as perfection. No matter how wonderful things may be in the beginning, monotony will eventually rear its ugly head. Passionate kisses that seem to last for hours will invariably dwindle until they eventually become nothing more than a peck on the cheek that is received at pick-up and drop-off points. We will hold hands, but it will not be out of genuine desire or affection, but rather our insecure need for reassurance that there is just someone, anyone, sitting at our side. We will stifle one another. We will break promises. We will become strangers, and when it ends we will blame each other. She will say we didn’t talk enough and I will say we didn’t fuck enough, and all that will remain are the countless movie stubs that I will keep in my wallet.  

I don’t really know what brought that on. I wish I could say I feel sad. I wish I could say I feel depressed. I wish I could say I feel something, but I can’t. I really don’t feel anything at all and I don’t really know if that is a good or bad thing. Who knows? Maybe indifference is a blessing.    

Life is the light of a candle that illuminates a dark room, but as time passes, it slowly dims and fades until it eventually expires completely. I guess the trick is to see as much as you can while the flame still flickers before your eyes. Unfortunately, I feel like I have spent most of my time with my head under the blankets wondering who lit the goddamned candle.

If only love’s death came equipped with a morphine drip, I could forget the permanence of words like “goodbye”. The pain caused by memories would fade like a dream, and each time it resurfaced, I’d get my dosage again.   

“Pay no attention to the man behind the curtain.” – The Wizard of Oz

Everyday, I chase tomorrow away with a stick, and I will probably keep doing so until it stops coming around. Are these choices my own? Maybe I am genetically conditioned to drink instead of dream. Yes, maybe it is my own DNA that has betrayed me. Then again, maybe I just fell in love with sadness and this is the price. Well, whatever it is, I am at its mercy. I used to be a good person. I used to have ideals. My heart used to do more than simply pump blood to my organs. Now all of that is gone and I can’t even cry because my tear ducts are filled only with dust. I look into the face of the truth with my head down because I already know the verdict. I am just a shell now.

The days when you and I walked hand in hand always keep me looking back, and in the darkness of my bedroom, I drift away inside the past. For your spirit calls on me and haunts my soul until I drink it down and end up someplace where my crippled heart can no longer be found, and though prescription pills and alcohol won’t bring me piece of mind, their anesthetic qualities make emptiness seem more benign.

“It’s funny. Little things, they used to mean so much to Shelly. I used to think they were kind of trivial. Believe me. Nothing is trivial.” – The Crow

That movie was on television tonight. I haven’t seen it in years. Watching it made me feel very “something”. I am not sure what exactly, but it wasn’t a very good feeling.  However, it all works out in the end I guess.We all drink to forget the past at one point or another. I am no exception. Unfortunately, numbness is a place that I have called “home” a lot lately. Ketel One and cranberry will get you there in no time, but not always in one piece. Then again, I am rarely in one piece. So it suits me well. Contrary to popular belief, I do not enjoy disappointing people. It just seems that I am very good at it.