let's not try to figure out everything at once

you were always weird but i never had to hold you by the edges like other men

yesterday, too many anniversaries. of moving, of the closet, of lemon chicken, of bad easters, of good easters. it's becoming quite laborious to count time like that. perhaps we should forget the phrase, "this time last..." forgetting and regret. it's better to be on this side of regret: the short end of the stick, the "no choice" side. this side of regret has no regrets, no power, no hope. it's easier to just have hurt. hurt and memories and forgetting. it's comforting to know there'll be no "moments of clarity" in the future. it is, however, perhaps a bit regretful to have had clarity through all times, like those times when others were totally fogged up. knowing what you have when you have it i suppose is both a gift and a curse. you end up with the short end of the stick but on the sunnier side of regret. perhaps it's some kind of sage-ness. some kind of maturity. it's like you're this master draftsman, drawing all these lines perfectly straight, perfectly in line, perfectly perpendicular and parallel; your rulers are impeccably straight, pencil point always sharp, level always aligned with the moon or the stars or the tides or whatever levels are controlled by. lining up reality with hopes and wishes. lining up heart and mind. perhaps it's more about turning off the mind. perhaps i should stop telling you what to do.