Ventalation

is it the salt in tears, that make them sting your cheeks when dried there? i was in the car tonight, headed in the familiar direction of home. the 22 degree cold inhibited my lungs with my sporadic and spastic breathing. there was jazz music on, loud enough to seep up any spare noises in the confined space. my hand rested upon the cracked skin that wraps the bones in my dad's fingers. 'proximal phalange, middle phalange, distal phalange'- i guess they are named in latin. street lights fuzzed into lost hope as the tears welded in my eye sockets. here i was sitting, discovering places where i am currently resting on false happiness. must learn to accept, confront, live through these things in my life. and thats the way its going to happen.

but now i have to go put a blanket, a facade and a fraud chuckle on these emotions. green gloves by the national is song of the day.