Shooting Leviticus

Simply put, it is time to go.

The miles to western Massachusetts look more and more appealing by the day. Summer has become a time of tedious workdays, stressed mothers, and looming piles of work that is moving 500 miles away.

I'm sick of having to explain my college at every turn. I shouldn't have to fight for its credibility simply because the masses have never heard of it. The jokes of living in trees have started to prick the skin.

The lit fuse traveling towards my home can be seen by the naked eye now. The affair placed one more china cup upon the swaying catastrophe of beer bottles and avoided family time. When not at work, I prefer myself not in this residence. No wonder I fall asleep at the job. Any time not home seems time well spent.

The lost boy and I have seemingly worked out an impossible scheme. Its refreshing to feel that summer shall throw its curtain down on us with a good note.

Casanova still seems to have one foot remaining in the frame, no matter how hard I try to not think of it. The same goes for Lovely. He left the other day, but not before I dropped by for one more moment.

Time stopped. I sat there on his couch, gazing out through the glass walls, and the realisation that this was the official end of childhood on my street took hold. He understood too, picked me up and just held me.

I left the past there that night.

I left walking down the street with just to say hello. Leaning my chin on the leather and metal mesh of the mustang's car door as we wound down River Road in the last breaths of dusk. Having my secure vision of the world shattered and thrown to the wind, leaving only my footsteps to carve the way.

I have been his past for years.

Finally, he became part of mine. And I will always think of him as the scratch of his beard against my forehead, the warmth of his arms around his childhood friend.

And that is truly Lovely.