Trying to keep up with a woman’s mood is to catch lightning with your bare hands
Even if a man were to make that godly catch, his hands would have melted away before he could celebrate with the migraine
You will never see me outside in the stormy night

Standing there... drenched in a forgotten angel’s cold sweat
My mind went blank... and then I uttered the most important words of my life

Omelette du fromage

Everything hurts more in the cold
The sting from vibrations of the baseball bat when the ball meets the shallow metal
The aching joints in every ugly, abused finger
The wind slapping the face of every poor man in his pursuit of shelter
The lonely nights spent in the bedroom, with a sock in hand, imagining the warmth of a woman
The curve of every shot thrown at a cloud ruthlessly passing by
The memory of the tears she shed when I told her goodbye
Everything hurts more in the cold

Man is to God
as Walt Disney is to
Micky Mouse
We’re all disillusioned with reality

I liked quirky women
It was easier to breathe around them
Their irregularities gave me something to watch, whether it was entertaining or simply odd
The ones that fully embraced that quality were the most radiant
Looking at the them was almost the same as looking into the sun
They gave me insight as to what I was lacking
Embracing their warmth gave me balance
I gladly take the backseat to them to this day
My place is observing from the side
I like for my vanity to be silent
The only issue with them—women in general—is that they have a need for constant communication and affirmation and affection
In the beginning, it’s more tolerable because everything is new and exciting
Then comes the inevitable: I get tired
Their quirks have become predictable, and their conversations dull
One week I’m deeply infatuated, then after the experiment becomes a process, the next couple weeks drag by with each day seeming to last years
That’s when I withdraw
Phasing out of a fifty year long commitment of love and charity, like the coward I am, then drifting back to the safety of solitude until the cycle repeats itself
I’m a dog
I’m a loner
One of these days I’ll have to pick one
But it won’t be today, and certainly not tomorrow

Sometime.