I feel better dressed in blackMature

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.

Just enough;

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.’  

The End

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