The things we take from each other:
space (I take up so much these days)
time on task
lifetimes of love and fear
can i bum a smoke?
Us thieves are thick, no? How is it that we have anything for ourselves. We borrow, kindly, and steal, unjustly, every thing we need. What's mine is yours. 50/50.
Things unsaid and things undone are the undoing of us all. Can you forgive the traps that I set for you, my fellow thieves? Can you all, or can of any of you, decode my codex?
If we write and think too much, can we make it right? Can I? How can thieves in this cold, dark, and lonely night, make it right? Can we collectively upend the tables that we overturned? The past is just a place that I visited before now. It's not here. It's not now. I'm at least certain of that.
It's so much to ask from an unresponsive mute. If I decide to change the story now, who will give a shit? Could I muster up the courage to care for my own moment in this fading light? Probably not.
Yeah, well, I love you, so what?
My codex is thick as thieves tonight. Good luck deciphering it with your cereal-box ring and magic glasses. This isn't for you. It never was. Let's sit with this for awhile and decide who, of us, gets the mayhem vote. It won't be me, love, not today. And death, for you, is too much of a gift. I may choose to suffer next to you, but I won't kill you. Not tonight. Not tomorrow. Mercy is out of this question. Mercy can only teach you so much about love. The pain of sitting with it will teach you more. I'm nothing if not some kind of fucked up teacher. Please, now, take it from me because I learned it all the hardest ways.
The winter is here. It's no longer coming. We are all statues in the frost and the dying light. We will freeze to death one at a time in this storm if we don't move on. Take turns now; don't push. Form a line. You're next.
Writing in code is so fucking lame. But it sounds cool, no? (Are you scared now? It's not going to happen. It's not going to hurt like it did.)
Just wait. Wait like the rest of us.