I have asked myself a thousand times why. Always the same answer returns as a null. Oh I can guess and I might be right but I might also be wrong. The words flowed as if lava from the core into my conscious being. I cannot breathe any longer without these thoughts. Day after day the sculptor's chisels work them deeper into my core. I am powerless to stop it. I am consumed by it.
Why do so many wonderful evenings together end this way? It has been a trend for as long as I can remember. A good time, friends all around until at home alone, the two of us in the cocoon we call a car. And then the heated words start to flow. Just a few at first until the eruption cannot be contained and the burns in my consciousness are completed, ready now for the mind's sculptor to do the dirty work with the chisel of agony embedding forever a few simple words.
Words that are powerful and hungry for attention in the mind, where already a million distractions exists. But the well placed blows of the sculptor has set the path. I cannot forget. I must move forward with yet another piece of decandent art in the collection of memories I will not be able to auction out.
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