Late

Sadness used to drive me, chauffeuring me around the restless streets of whose empty town.. And now, there is a difference, a potential difference, such charge such voltage that I fear might cloud judgment even though the lens are cleaned and wiped new of the past. Is this a silent contentment, is it really? I doubt and I shovel out discrepancies one at a time, hoping the pile won’t be too great for the fluctuating, tottering balance.
That inevitable haunting decrescendo of who we were and what we were.
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Let me hand you something and not hold back and float along where the current goes.

I feel different and a little older than before, more secure, no longer as petty or so confined within myself.
Yet I keep weighing things.. where I will be in comparison to the now, in comparison to the past - trying to estimate the differences to schedule in pencil appropriate times of change, conceptual change that can’t be tied down to one point, but series of ongoing evolution.

In the hard cold file, categorized are the sins and grievances of my life according to the various degrees of awareness.