Over dramatic at midnight

the balloons.
the conversations.
the smiles.
the awkward pauses between the balloons, conversations, and smiles.
truly there are no balloons, but the ones i am imagining.
the ones that grow smaller and smaller in the sky until the balloon looks like a fly, then a dot, then nothing.

am i the balloon, or are you? am i the balloons, or are my dreams?

what are dreams, what are balloons?
Vladimir and Estragon are sitting the corner of my minds chewing bits of hay and their fingernails. They smile, but they do not really care.

remember, remember the crying. the nights and days in silence. when los angeles appeared to be a great black hole, where souls fell and never returned. remember how jcl would send EMOTDs in the email. remember the time you cried on the bus and no one noticed. I am older now, and the bus only comes once an hour. I am older and I cry less. and Los Angeles is pearl embedded on the jagged west coast.

smile through class. smile through teaching. smile through the reading. smile while writing. smile while riding the bike uphill. smile at the vid. smile at the root cellar. smile during office hours. smile at church. smile on the bus. smile on the carride home. smile. for this too shall pass. and be remembered in the same pearlish hues of california.

what of it that i know fortunate, lucky, blessed, and all the other synonyms. what of it that i have learned to smile just like that songs says to. I am tired. tired of smiling, of having my character refined, of having nothing to complain about, of being unknown, of seeing other people smiling and being understood.

i told you i was over dramatic at midnight. goodnight