like a map with no ocean

that line between love and hate thins when the people you love just become reminders of how much a failure you are.
no insight. no work to do this quarter, just sit around listening and dancing to the music.
i heard a fiddler player outside my window at 1 o'clock in the morning last night. he sat between two lampposts on the bicycle trail. you could barely see his arm moving back and forth with the bow. but as i leaned out the window behind the flapping curtain, there was just enough light to see him flick a match. a little golden globe underneath his chin for three seconds. and that was fucking amazing.