and self-sympathy in dreams...
I said it once,
I'll say it again:
the little things
are the big things.
I am not happy all the time.
I am not sad all the time.
I am human all the time.
it's a mixed bag.
my tastes in music reflect this,
and either drive the bus
or play defense depending
on the days' doldrums or delights.
and then I remember when
I was 20-nothing before I dreamed
in email confirmations,
when confidence was killer
and I put the laughter in manslaughter.
when mountains felt
like they could actually be relocated
by hope and belief, naivete and dreams,
before Langston Hughes killed me, too.
I wish I could go back,
and blow smoke in that kid's face,
tell him everything won't be as you dreamed,
but everything will either be okay
or fixable.
...celebrating a beautiful boring Saturday night
in the middle of my moveable mountain of forever.