I think it'd be hideously hilarious--this, me, a Romeo without his Juliet. I'm certainly not lacking in the poison department, and plan to scratch the rest of that love-shit.
I'm writing these words as loosely as the last few notes are played in a jazz song. Matter of fact, I'm floating as freely around this idea like cigarette smoke does between white and blue lights at a show. And it'll be quite a show.
Red, white and blue lights.
I won't let it get messy. I won't make anyone do anymore work than they have to. Everything'll be unplugged. Everything'll be shut. Everything'll be locked except the door. I don't want that to be broken down--it's served me too well. It's kept me hidden behind it's wooden embrace, and hasn't had any objections to my activities. Every single door has housed and done me well. I'll love them all.
It's clean, in here. Just the way my family and friends would have wanted to see it. They'll find piles of clothes and pieces of time that I've left for them, everything casually labeled.
The sound filling this room is what's been the toothpick width sized glittery piece of enjoyment I've been able to find. Piano, guitar, cello. No words. Nothing to muddy or to distract or to interject. Just beautiful, lonely melody that will leave my insides twitching until... twenty-forever.
There will be beauty beneath and by me. You'll all be veiled--too attached to this world to notice it.
I assure you, your time and my time was not a waste. What would be a waste is throwing away this power, and I simply won't do that.
I won't waste that power.
