Day 41:

I regret nothing after meeting you. I was in a place of despair and I found a letter. A letter found a bus. A bus found you. I found purpose, again.

And purpose brings me here, to a Fresno-sized swamp that plays at being Rome, where I sleepwalk through sharp-elbowed yuppies running off cliffs.

Is there really any purpose to this? Writing is whistling into a tunnel with a train coming; organizing is arguing about the direction of a burning house.

Sometimes, I envy you for leaving so early. It’s a cruel decade facing us.

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About spsukaton

Indonesian-American Bruin, fourth-generation Adventist, history student, saxophonist, singer, writer/editor. Born in Pittsburgh, raised in smoggy Southern California, looking for a way to live and leaving scribbles in my wake. In the beginning was the Word, and I'm kind of obsessed with it.
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