Returning to another cross section of candlelit quizzical quandaries,
I stumbled upon an answer that they may have found,
Had it not been for Mister ‘open-til-late’ and his cleverly crafted concoctions:
‘Buy-one-get-one-free’ nightmares and ‘refreshing-gag-reflex-resetters’ for when one’s throat seems saturated with aftermath secretions.
In and amongst it all I had sipped silently, dipping my hand into my pocket only once Or twice.
Just enough to fit comfortably into a dapper suit of social camouflage.
Not for me,
but for my moments among them.
Sooner or later, inward opinions of playing the smooth jazz cat will re-emerge as a Military break-beat exhaling thoughts of urgency with the stride of Sinatra dressed in a tailored leather trench coat.
You know the feeling?
Insecurities dance away like hot cellophane, wrapping those nearby a million miles away.
All that remains is you: a tunnel of shrink-wrapped confidence and the destination you never want to reach.
Those with constant confidence often carry a few crippled tears in their souls. Comfort never asked to be displayed like an over-funded firework display.
It just wanted to be left alone.
Eager, far too uncomfortably eager.
With one deep breath I blow out the cross section of quizzical quandaries;
The answer is all in the breath:
Take in as much as you can and let out as little as possible.
Condense a thousand turning pages into a sentence that knocks down boundaries and re-erects the candlelit so that they stand above the ghosts that they leave behind in a wind of change:
‘Carry not yourself, at least not until you know him.’