Unicorns

I am eyes.

I have a problem with true honesty. It doesn’t come easy to me. I lack a mouth. I like to play with language but my true voice has been buried for years, perhaps for the duration of my life.

I see the awkward problems I create for myself. I see my almost crippling hesitancy to make new friends. I see fear curling the edges of my fantasies with flames.

I stand in awe of the people I see creating their own worlds and making it look fairly effort-free.

People that will sleep with anyone are called ‘easy’, it’s said. In my experience, that’s untrue. They’re hard as marbles. They mean so little to themselves that they’re nearly invulnerable. The lasso they throw is self-abusive longing for anything except closeness.

And here I am, sporting a head injury from diving into too many shallow people.

Saturn’s rings are a halo made from the glittering diamonds of countless forgotten anniversaries. Tears no one saw frozen into crystal, and sand hissing past in an endless circle held in place by gravity.

A new relationship can’t start until the old one ends. You can’t spell love with an ex.

Right now, I’m breathing my last moments. We all are. Our lives are the twitter of a sparrow.

Time is a forgotten videotape from the eighties with everyone on it before the cancer and the divorce and the betrayals and the new friends. Time helps puzzles.

There are no unicorns in Texas. There are a whole bunch in Vegas, though.



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