There comes a time, when one must realize, the natural cool, subtle composure, expected facade of an, "I'm well put-together," will begin to rip at the seams; sooner or later.

You'll find yourself,


melancholy love affairs. hazy minded cocktails in a low lit bar. conversation with strangers over cigarettes and, "what-makes-you-tick(s)" shitty music on overpriced juke-box. slurred words and spilled secrets. There will come a time you'll realize you're not perfect. And, those who appear to be properly established, strong foundation and smooth vocabulary, are maybe, more experienced at masking the hang-ups. (You'll know them by the lack of their eye contact.)

Old English.

Stumbling to the strangers car, "Why are you leaving so soon?" "I've had too much champagne and it's more work to place letters in a well enough order to translate." We laughed over stories within the 5 minutes it took to drive me home. Hugged. Said our goodbyes. And I went to sleep. A bit vulnerable from staring contests with my weaknesses. or the lack of empathy toward awkward conversation with grimy bar floors.

A bit bittersweet.