Vera's post

If Russ died in my arms or in front of me while he jumps off a building or while he pulls the trigger of a gun that materializes out of nowhere -- wonderful tricks outside my office table or in Russ' red room, oh-so-beautiful red -- will I carry him off to an outer world where there is no you, no me, no crazy nights of beer and margarita mixed amidst percussions and silly halloween costumes, or will I slump and cry until everything is lost for us. Purity, tears, all the shit and sadness glued in a canvas where five names are written in haste, as if inked by shame and guilt, shame and guilt because of the love I have for them, shame and guilt for the love that evades me in my 'roomless' home. Sad, sad souls drunk with nights of talks and curses and dreams of foreign places, a sympathetic world big and strong enough to carry angry hearts, bruised, sad, heavy, and sleepy.