I know that truth is a thing of the moment but sometimes I get tired of living in a world like that Tell me about beautiful things so I can remember them later. Some days I don’t know if, should the world see all that is in my head, if I would be shunned or lauded most likely just ignored. Mostly I just sit and ponder I try to make peace with this world of mine. Try to consecrate the small things. A head in my lap and a hand in my palm a birthday wish or bruised knee. Attempt to make sacrosanct the way a person walks away or runs to me, the taste of over-sweetened tea on my tongue the taste of one goodbye in the back of my throat. Despair cannot have this cannot take this power from me this seeing, this waking dreaming, commit to memory beget in word a moment this existence for a moment so extant so full of existential beauty that I fear to breathe and break it.