don't read too much into it

if it's hard to take, try it out loud.

Letting go is not romantic. Then again, neither is holding on. My heart can't save me now. I never really expected it to. Jesus saves. Heart seems like the wrong word for a soul. Heart and soul. Separate, or the same? Maybe fog and fear keep our eyes from seeing clear[ly]. If the stars that shine are in any way a sign, I think that someone's out there putting up a fight. She said it's dangerous to think that everything will be okay. Fine; I've always kind of enjoyed living dangerously. Stranger danger. In and out every day. Live four years in your cookie-cutter condo and you've never met your neighbors. I'm a river's flow: some days I'm fast, some days I'm slow. Some days I fill the edges, then I'm shallow and pretentious. It all depends upon the rain I got that night. I should never base my faith upon my sight. Blind faith. Blind to truth, blind to love. Do all blind people wear those big black sunglasses? Taboo; or is it cliché? He told me not to use clichés. If they weren't used, they wouldn't be clichés now, would they? Maybe that's just the most accurate way of putting it. They're so wrapped up in this "think for yourself" world that they don't let you use other people's words. Even if they are excellent words. What a waste. I stare at the swing that used to hold your end-of-the-day thoughts. There are things we can and things we cannot keep. We're for sale and we're cheap and we'll sing you a jingle. This is my heart, not yours. It's crazy how we try to find solace. Solace in the summer solstice. What exactly does that mean? What, if anything? Where do you put all the stuff? People buy then people die. It would take too long. They won't instantly turn to dust. I always enjoyed the simple children's story, this one might last. Goodnight room and goodnight moon and goodnight light and red balloon. You tried to convince us it was radical. Politics try to change us. You said it was goodnight what I bought, goodnight what I own, goodnight what is here on loan. Consumerism. Does everything have to be caught up in politics? I think it's a conspiracy. Adults like to make up big words to make them sounds smart. Isms and Istics. You killed the magic. It was only about a bedtime ritual. The words were important, not the meaning. You ruined it. Thank you, professor. I give in to being an adult even if I don't feel like one. I get home; I make chai tea. Using a coffee pot makes me feel like an adult. I don't like coffee. It's 73-degrees outside but I turn my AC to 65 and make tea and sink beneath the blankets. University housing. The bill is pre-paid. Cold air and long, hot showers. I'll care about conservation of energy in nine months. Pass me across the stage into the "real world," where you work to pay the bills. It's no circus. The ring leaders and acrobats have earned their Ph.D.s and now they sit behind big desks and talk on their phones. Cell phones. Blackberries. iPhones. We all know they're just watching YouTube and trading their picks for Fantasy Football. The pay is okay. The work gets done. Somehow. Then I thought I heard my heart stop beating. It was only the loss of electricity as ice weighs down on the lines for the sixth night in a row. A candle sits in the window--a signal to anyone passing. A sign: someone lives here. They keep going. Off to bigger and better things. It's always bigger, always better. What happens when you reach the top? Is there a top? Is there the biggest and best? Who decides? My heart isn't in it. I sent pieces of it to other states: Nebraska, Pennsylvania, Vermont. I miss Vermont. There's that girl on the radio again. She sang about her fantastic boyfriend and their apartment in upstate New York. I think she's a liar. She's never been in love. She swears she's let go, but it's not the same. Letting go is not romantic.