Displaced

Well, the ole' xanga has outlived it's potential.. so we, the proverbial we, are moving here...

I have had to say au revoir to many a people in my day, and it is getting tiresome, it is getting harder; it is making me slouch and feel numb and make me put too much emphasis on what was said and who said it - what was done and whodunit. We try to keep people snug in our pockets, but they crawl out one day. And when we're old and gray, wrinkled and toothless, we'll realize we never kept in touch. That we don't have the huge array of friends we'd had when we were younger, that we don't socialize until 7am any longer - but maybe those that we shared everything with might still be at the party. Maybe they're still rifling through antique books, still kissing girls on street corners and walking home alone. Perhaps they're still running bases, still dancing on bars, still singing in a backroom in St. Paul, slurping cold beers on barstools, playing with brown-eyed puppies, longing for adolescence but excited about what the future holds, holding hands when no one is looking, crying on a Bedford stoop, and getting sweaty blackeyes.

It can't last forever.