so's i have coffees and conversations with the captain, and he says things like "but he's not in love with you" and "but he's not in love with you" and "but he's not in love with you".

and it's true that i'm putting great effort into living honestly but perhaps perhaps perhaps i avoid feeling the weight of this specific reality.

it's not like the bursts of wind on the 100 block of e mifflin street that choke me when i'm walking west, and it's not like peppermint tea, and it's not like driving fast around the lake.

perhaps i already should have learned the danger inherent in defining things by what they are not.

what it is is something dead. dead stone heavy dirty scuffed hiding in my heart pulling down on my shoulders. too close to my center. clouds rational thought.

have the scales fallen from my eyes yet?