I Hate to Love You. La Crescent Heat.

To get to the person I love I would stop at nothing.  I would sleep in until I was late for any scheduled appointment.  I would study words so I could articulate exactly how I feel at an exact moment.  I would lose myself.  I would die.  I would come back from the grave and tell whoever whatever to get closer to what I love.

However, I would not have to run far…

I woke up again, slapping the alarm clock into a coma.  The sleep, and the dreams within the next half hour of sleep, would take me back.   I would smell the past, taste the past, feel the past, and now I am the past, or at least that moment is.  I woke up and I could see a square of sunlight on my cabinet, which is my closet, which is located in my pantry, or rather room.  I woke up and stared at that square of light for 5 minutes and then my alarm clock spoke-up again.  The wood that was illuminated is of a dark red wood, it is cheap and it is sticky to the touch in the right weather.  I focused and noticed how messy my room had become.  All the fucking, all the drinking, all the nights of abandoning my bed to fall onto others had come at a cost.  The cost dishevelment, unkempt delight in my residence, I live in a crude pantry of dirty clothes, dirty sex, dirty thoughts, and most of all dirty work.  I guess the latter is more closely defined as less of an amount than the second mentioned in the list.  I guess.  I only guess because I don’t care.  I don’t care because I don’t want to know.  That is how it is.

It is about 90 degrees out, and I am afraid that asking for warmth all winter will have me asking for cold all summer.  Minnesota.  I walked the hills today.  I did not walk alone I was occupy with a friend.  I have trespassed on land, which I do not own, which no one owns, which is owned by someone.  I have passed through the trees picking up parasite and fungi to only regret the first.  I trekked on muddy slops through thickets of downed trees, only to smoke them.  We turned up mushrooms and they presented us with the chance to make a pizza.  Morel pizza.  More pizza.  End.

I write a lot and I am right a lot.


About Terry Scott Niebeling

Hello, My name is Terry Scott, a human being with flaws. twitter: @sirterryscott Buy my ebooks: http://www.amazon.com/s/ref=nb_sb_noss_1/191-4788099-1818040?url=search-alias%3Daps&field-keywords=terry+scott+niebeling
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