Spinning around oblivious to anything that doesn’t touch me, I’m drunk and in love with everyone I’ve ever known, and as the streets come and go one after the other, I’m shouting at the top of my lungs and crying at the sight of a thousand dead dreams as they fall by my side along with drops of rain that taste like skittles and wine. I don’t care for what follows. I don’t care about anything other than this feeling that has crawled out from the rubble of so many versions of my life that have crumbled before my eyes. With each failure, there has been heartache, and with each heartache has come the pain and frustration of picking up the pieces. Yet pick them up I did, and although my reflection has grown weary and my bones a little heavy, this beer-soaked ridiculed heart still beats as if on the verge of some great discovery even though it knows the days bring only disappointment and fear. Such is the life of a dreamer. Such is the hope that laughs at the smile of all those ghosts that grab my hand and spin with me atop the embankment near where I used to live, down to the depths of the rivers and seas that have continued to flow despite my absence. The night is lover and mother; it lifts me up and kisses my lips and bites my tongue as the clouds wrap themselves around my limbs casting me into the heavens where there’s no such thing as losing and no such thing as a false start. If only they knew what it was like. If only they had the faith of heart to keep going, but they threw their faith away without so much as a reason why. But it doesn’t matter now, none of it matters whatsoever. The answer isn’t in another, it’s in your visceral sighs and those guttural cries that leave your mouth in the middle of the night, but most importantly, it’s in the love in your tear-stained eyes. Spin with me and lose control, and then spin some more.