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Purgatory - Sunday, Feb. 10, 2019
Saturday, Jan. 11, 2003 @ 12:33 am
It's a natural inclination... how I'm leaning towards some people, some places.
I'm walking next to her, me hop-skipping to keep up with her five-foot giant-something long legs. It's back to the friday nights on campus, the cheap drinks, the ever ever flowing alcohol that starts at 4:30. And our arms brush in the numb drunken walk, and it's not strange. And we buy each other drinks, not keeping track of dollars here and there. She's leaning on me, talking about her boy mourning him. Talking about everything that is him, over and over, the same stories. But I know she loves to tell. And I like to listen.
Next it's my turn to lean on her. Only after the fourth drink (when you have carrots for lunch, drinks hit you hard at 4) do I open up to her. I hardly remember what anything was about... something about tuesday and the strange one-on-one thing... something about that old coworker fling... speculating over what's going to happen at tomorrow night's show. She reads me so well; best friends do that. "Don't worry. You're totally going to find someone incredible and you'll laugh at how alone you felt this very night." It was a moment I tell you. It was a moment.
Soon. I know. I totally know. But not too soon.
After seeing her onto her bus, I walked the quarter mile home alone. The moon is leaning too, heavy with weight, falling down on it's right. Orion is there as always. Inside the gates, I watched the sky as the most firey and sparking star fell through the atmosphere. So bright, so much flare. I would have shouted out an 'ooh' if there had been anyone around besides the ducks.
Did you see it flicker and fall? I bet he did.