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Finally, I am surrounded by friends and numbers. The night is a heavy machine.
The curbs are all parking lots here, and the cigarettes are free. She had me over like a promise for peace. She sounded so good on the phone. But the air is a blind hypocrite, and sleeping next to her felt so alone.

It felt like an emptiness I had felt for years. It felt like an emptiness.

I felt it in Virginia; I felt it in Spain. In New York City, it was January’s pain,
January’s chill, January’s confusion. It was refusing to progress in spite of the caress of Providence (oh, the sweet caress of Providence)

It was human meaninglessness: all of the perfect grievances that can not be redressed.

I cannot emphasize enough the need for compromise. I cannot cauterize without smelling my own lies. I am only searching for the beauty of self-sufficiency, but that beauty only serves to frustrate me because I find it in you.

I find it in you.

Oh, great paradox: I find it in you.