Happiness and the Fish

I had oh so many thoughts crammed in here. I did. What does it take for a thought to be heard?

Heaven is a defunct reliquary for impassioned prayers.

I swear, everything is right. Dreams are dreams, and I am me.

"I live at the end of a five-and-a-half minute hallway."

The obnoxious bright glow of a cell phone pierces the dark. I fumble for it. Another prayer. Nothing. More silent mirth somewhere, I'm sure.

As faithful children, we prayed much harder then. "God, when the chicken eggs hatch, please, let dinosaurs crawl out." We are foolish now as we were then. And even more disappointed.

Even with my hands full of holes, I still couldn't feel less close to you.

I bled the demon out. I thought I let the demon out. We tried the drink, we tried the leeches. The binges, the cases and cases of nicotine, the silence, the fury, the miles and miles and the god damn miles under our heels. What were we chasing, anyway?

I spoke my mind a million times. Just never thought to mention it aloud. Tell me again the difference between a tactic and a strategy. It doesn't really matter. I lacked them both. I think I've finally figured out the latter, but fumbling through the dark hardly seems a likely means of achieving the goal.

It's probably still the best I've got.