He awoke each morning with the desire to do right, to be a good and meaningful person, to be, as simple as it sounded and as impossible as it actually was, happy. And during the course of each day his heart would descend from his chest into his stomach. By early afternoon he was overcome by the feeling that nothing was right, or nothing was right for him, and by the desire to be alone. By evening he was fulfilled: alone in the magnitude of his grief, alone in his aimless guilt, alone even in his loneliness. I am not sad, he would repeat to himself over and over, I am not sad. As if he might one day convince himself. Or fool himself. Or convince others. The only thing worse than being sad is for others to know that you are sad. I am not sad. I am not sad. Because his life had unlimited potential for happiness, insofar as it was an empty white room. He would fall asleep with his heart at the foot of his bed, like some domesticated animal that was no part of him at all. And each morning he would wake with it again in the cupboard of his rib cage, having become a little heavier, a little weaker, but still pumping. And by the mid-afternoon he was again overcomed with the desire to be somewhere else, someone else, someone else somewhere else. I am not sad.

Bro, wetin really happen?

STRONG

IF I CRY

Visions of love evolve us both,
Entwined in passion of a voyage in a love boat,
Intimacies gods felt and men loath,
Love in my mind to the end was an oath,

Kisses we shared so deep i fell,
Moments my being dared the word called fear,
So into you with lighting speed i was there,
Heaven ha! I felt my dear,

Time my enemy chose to invade us,
Revealing your face hidden behind white gloss,
Travails of all sort erupted from no cause,
The end was "I'm Leaving" a dreadful clause,

How then do you think to console me when you try?
My love is empty;my heart stack dry,
My being aching for touches i cant let lie,
What then can you do, IF I CRY, ?

Damon Hill
01/27/09