have felt alone a thousand different ways,
a thousand different lonelinesses
from just a few people. They leave, I
But is it loneliness I feel?
Or is it that empty space between
loneliness, which is itself
a road, years and years long, and unforgetful,
and designed to tire you out, grind you down,
chew you up, and destroy. A terrible road, it is,
with a terrific view.
Written at 11:09 at night, in my office, in Agoura Hills CA, with Luke, a Greater Swiss Mountain Dog, breathing in my ear.