never anything but happiness



I am becalmed.

I imported some photos to my pasokon tonight, and in looking through them, inadvertently scrolled through the recent ones back into the first I imported, ones from my first trip to Minnesota. It doesn’t take much study here, now, to look at the face of that beauty I once called mine to see that there was never anything called love in those eyes, never anything called happiness.

But, onward.

Today I read Habermas. More Habermas. Before that, before I left the house, I opened “Little Birds” by Anais Nin and got a boner for a few minutes.

This evening? Coffee and talking with a pretty girl, beers with comrades in scholarship.

Tomorrow, class, and who knows what else?