Dealing with the cards life dealt...

He's wearying to escape into that glorious world, and to be always there: not seeing it dimly through tears, and yearning for it through the walls of an aching heart: but really with it, and in it.

I've made my own hunger into a practice, made everyone who passes through my life subject to a close and inappropriate reading that occasionally finds its way, often insufficiently, with words onto pieces of paper. And when I am alone with myself, this is what I am waiting for someone to do to me, with merciless, deliberate hands, to put me down as metaphors and long winded sentences, so that when I’m gone, there will be a record, proof that I was, despite everything, here. Alive for the briefest of moments in time.