How many times have you sat on that couch crying, unable to make words of the terrible monsters that rage within, that they fed and nursed and left in their stead. You tell her about it later and it sounds so harmless, you shrug it off and remain surprised not everyone spends their time in the same destructive cycle. You vow to show him all your cards at once, to prove to yourself you will not actually die having divulged them.
A week comes and goes so quickly in the land of sharp drawls and lilting mountain ranges. You find your big city edges soften, your impatient pace recede in the curves of the canyon. You run along snowy country trails and feel your lungs grow accustomed to the altitude. So many years and you still don't believe you're committed, yet nothing feels more like home than the descent into these valleys. You long for your brick buildings and long steps on the sidewalk, but the deep silence of the West buries itself in you and will not leave you at security. You try to pack as much of its sweet innocent as you can into that bulging suitcase.
New Things begin with your return. Harness them, create them out of the shapeless masses they are. Bend the world to your will.
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