the breath of frigid air after the exhale of smoke.

he had these aspirations of being a writer, a beat poet, a rapper, a teacher, a famous musician, and a silent revolutionary. everything was perfectly designed and had a consistent underlying utopian aroma.
but as he expected (and hoped)
he had come to the inevitable place where he stood at the edge of everything that was familiar
and looked out at the world completely unversed.
he asked his father if it were safe to jump






and his father said

of course not.
but the consequence of not jumping is too severe.

sparrows

i came across some letters that a convict wrote back in the day. He laid out these sixteen points that have inspired me to love the sparrows
like a brother loves his brother,
or a mother her son,
or a lover his wife.


I don't really know how yet,
or why, really.
but i have an ambition,
i have One leading me,
one beside me,
and a heart that's still beating.


The next chapter in this story is finally less about me.