64 pack of beer
The little room, inside a room, within a room.
Enough walls to keep delightful lubbers out of the dark.
He turns off the main light as evening falls and rain taps the roof, a calming clatter.
Shut the door, lock it, and turn on the fan.
Do you know what it’s like to leave everything you know and have no one understand you?
The lone lightbulb’s light is the last thing to linger as he makes himself comfortable.
Frantically collecting apple snail shells, milkweed, and the Florida Paint Brush, trying to make sense of the environment that would soon be specific to a time period and emotion.
He is underneath the tropical attire and sunblock, silencing their voices with his jacket wrapped around his head.
Every mile walked is more distance added to the collection of memories that are making the old one’s fade.
Why keep remembering moments when you can create moments to remember?
You sink so far down until your ribs fold in on themselves, until you squeeze your fists so tight they turn as whit as you once were before he turned to gray and rugged.
You are the only person who will always be there for yourself. Something he realized as he rubbed his own back and learned how to change a flat tire. The heat was unbearable.
3 ½ months of isolation made him reconsider, but not until the last weeks. Perhaps it takes that long to fully convince yourself that something is bad for you.
After three haircuts, one wasp sting, and one shattered phone screen, he managed to find peace on the back porch. Enjoy the simple things like eating lychees and drawing lines between mosquito bites.
A breaking point is reached when your mind and body are dead but you still seem to be moving.
Every step unexpected because you thought your last would indeed be your last.
I guess it turns into a perpetual cycle of thinking something great will happen the next day.
It never does, but you are still breathing so I guess that is a plus.
Many calls to grandma and a re-kindled, but temporary, friendship with God.
Spontaneous drives to the Keys, once again trying to depart from the mainland, this was his closest attempt.
Sleep is something forced by three pills.
The night ended in that little room, and so did my idea of who I was.
The conclusion that I didn’t know.