Today.

It was a strange sort of a day.

Words were jotted down and erased, hurt and pain felt keenly, dreams unheeded and unfulfilled, like so many other days, love lost, ambitions left forgotten, promises incomplete, nightmares loomed large, endless mugs of fluid fuel, some fights, irritation, resignation, texts, loving words not really meant, futile relationships, pointless lies and lives, crappy songs, guitar lessons, Christmas eve.

Somewhere, millennia ago, maybe a guy was born. Maybe not. The result’s turned out equal. We have wreaths and pretty lights on trees and presents and pie. And heartaches, masked; loneliness, unacknowledged.
Drinks, after the others have gone, late into the night, burning down throats, amidst thoughts of why alone, why now, why me?

Or maybe for some, company, love, warmth in the outside cold, clasped hands, beauty and gifts.

Is that what we're going ahead for? The potential of companionship? Some intermittent success and the resulting brief sparks of joy? It seems rather desultory.

Or maybe to tell a few stories of equal failures and fictitious happy endings, make some music, figure another equation, create another machine. And then die.