Standing the Indian Love Queue

So many people, but I am more alone than ever, I could be out back of my house in the dark staring at the waxing moon, and the traffic lights up the hill changing from south lakes drive to soapstone road for no one and I'd feel the same.

I am at that fork in the road again, paused and alone. At the foot of some high cliff or stuck in the middle of a lake. I wait for her and she says she waits for me but impossible thoughts weigh and brood on the roofs of our minds. These black thoughts are overcoming my little air hostess pulling her down. And I still dream of getting into that mile high club, for love, for lust, for fun, for the future, for my memories, for myself. I want her to defect with me. And I love her and the word is so ambiguous and she is confused, perpetually.

I have given her a piece of me that I needed and she has taken it to some domestic airport in some prepaid hotel and she lays on her bed overcome with guilt and cries at the ceiling, her mind reorganizing.

It seems happiness is dissolving in my hands, and hope is now smiling and standing behind me tapping her foot, gripping the whips in her hands. I am unwillingly to move, but nervously looking around, my eyes turn shapes in the darkness into faces and crouching creatures poised to jump out at me. I am trying to hold my mind up from caving in on itself, at least till the next town (light.)

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