(last night, 12:09 am

here, at last i can sit down to write. 
its dark in my family room, and i'm still slightly high, unbounded and trembling-
the magic, of my porch, of amy and julia..
they could feel, the nuances of my sorrow.
i'm flooded and flying down the highway "you must have been a little traveling gypsy" amy giggles, and i am, i don't even remember the act of packing but all my things, my life, is stowed away within my jetta, everything that matters and i'm moving i'm moving i'm moving. at times i cry for stretches of highway, squinting through tears to see the road i'm tired and weak i can't do this on my own i can't do this on my own i keep making wrong decisions and above all this, the one, single thought, i just have to make it through this drive. once i make it home, everything will be fine.

and then there were three of us, lounging, gracefully on my porch chairs, smoking and talking for, how many hours must it have been, three i would imagine, and i could have stayed for hours more.
its julia's face, the low drawl of her voice.
amy's radiant smile, 
and the storm coming in, the wind picking up, gathering so much strength and pure, unclouded love.. i tremble in it, allowing more and more of myself to show through.
"thank you," i whisper, as we leave, 
"you really, really, have helped me, tonight. thank you, for being a part of it."  )

sometimes, things that seem the most destructive are only necessary to provide the impetus to propel you to farther heights.

i've tumbled into a month in the middle of nowhere, and found something purely spectacular.

the curtain rises, act three.