my dark horse,

my underdog,
favorite of my choosing,
I'm done cheering for teams that
can't win unless they're losing.

Sometimes I see you with a golden light around you.
Sometimes I can see through you. When I do,
baby all I find is how good you are.

my black infinity

I do not regret any of the 30+ acorns which fell from the tree I used to park my car under in Atlanta, or the pock-marks they left in the paint. Nor do I regret the smear Luke left when he permanently rubbed "wash me" into its dirt-covered hood. Like a friend you have both battled with and gone to battle for, these scars only make me love it more.

Sitting at Library Alehouse, drinking a Rochefort. On the television a Red Sox game is on. The score is 2/2 and it's the top of the third, but none of this really matters; I came in to distract myself. I only glance up at the screen because that's what you do at a bar. But I realize all of a sudden, from a previous text, that my sister (who recently moved to Boston) is waiting outside this game to get in. Although I am far more comfortable on my bar stool than she is in line, that we are in some way sharing this moment is the first truly happy thought I've had all miserable day. My thoughts return to last night and how A.L. told me he was and is still with me. My God how we are always, always, all with each other.

Last night Abe told me I am the painter.
And I believe him. So today I must start painting.