Paul

I walk into town slowly. The remains of my childhood splattered over the walls. The same colours I mean. Like you know, how they recycle colours in department store fronts. Well, the same ones are up now. This wasn't going to be some enlightened, heavy throwback. 

My legs are tired and I think of Jocey here and there. I think of her legs, her arms, her face, her hair, her stories. 

My father sleeps away the last days of his life. He snores quietly in between heavy chunks of sleep. His eyelids - blank walls on which his mind paints pastel memories of the passed past. The passed past. How unnecessary. 

How sad I feel. 

What is this despair? What is this love? 

I struggle with emotion for five minutes and then I turn on the television. I immediately think of eating some cereal but remember all the bowls are gone. Packed away in heavy boxes and sitting out front to be collected by some huge truck. 

Mom cried when I first left town to attend Princeton out in Jersey. Junky Jersey the boys called it and I laughed it off cuz no one was going to let this dream fall to pieces. Not even me. 

We fast forward when we're young and accelerate out of comfort. 

We seek the fall, the bleeding knees. 

I think of all the times Jocey yells and tells me I don't understand. But I understand. I understand it all. It's just that it's written inside.

What is this distance? What is this love? What is this love?

I don't know what this love is. But it is love.