Friday, July 22, 2011

the joy parade

There was that half hour, sitting in the back of a rusted Toyota in the middle of the Rum, red sand all around whisked into my face by the tires and the unstoppable wind, monoliths carved out by centuries and teeth of cartoon-blue sky, dust mating with the residual sweat of Nabatean exploration on my skin, greasy hair, a ribbed tank top, a convoy, and the broadest smile I could muster up without guile. Ecstasy vaporized through the pores: the first moment of grateful, self-realized living.

And then there was your genuine peace and confidence when you said that you could not forget me and would be around for a while, window-adjacent anticipation every day like clockwork, dreams becoming comfortably-elevated reality, children's cries resounding in my lungs, pride of the future, a disposition to happy compromise, and first trust in the orchestrator of childhood hopes and adult responsibility.

Of these two, only one remains, taunted by the memory of his younger brother. Desperate for a new beginning, I created Cain and Abel, and I knew all along that all the good die young.

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