(dallas hours)

My brain is the walk from a farewell kiss, dressed in a grin and the knowledge that this time we won't be living the lie that kept us at night, drinking whiskey and staring down the barrel of an unlit cigarette.

I'm not sure what it means, really. i don't know what the hell i'm feeling.

I just know that i'm happy for some fucking reason.

Even broke. even sober. facing a lonely smoking bed and this manuscript again.

I guess its something in the air. spring under the hell's gate bridge and the same music i've been playing the last few months but, tonight, sounds like the soundtrack i've always needed to a life i've demanded of myself since i was sixteen and finally realized what it was to mean a kiss.

Awkward as it was for a shy boy playing the lunatic, in the back stairwell of the bio building where i'd had my first (to an embarassing record that doesn't bear, at the moment, repeating).

A simple story for a lesser time but a quiet moment to remind me that i haven't regretted a single one since.

Including those that got my ass kicked.