Friday, April 20, 2012

1:00 a.m. in Chicago

It was 1 a.m. Chicago time and I couldn't sleep.
My love was in bed; we had spent the evening joking and having the most ridiculous fights. I found the fights both wonderful and elucidating.

Me: What happened to my panties?
My love: I ripped them off of you; this is no longer my problem.
And it went on like that. I woke up in the morning to thunderstorms, which became indicative of my day. Part of me was desperate to focus, to become a pinpoint in the storm, a raindrop, crystallized, real. The rest of me was caught up in scattered fury, shaking and rattling with no purpose.

I thought to myself that I was home.

And some part of me wondered what home meant anymore with the life I live. Three days here and I would be on the road again. To somewhere. Always somewhere.

I was nothing but destinations.

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