the evenings we spent, slightly and quietly changing the world from this tattered orange couch in the basement apartment, were only real to us. no one else would comprehend when i told them that comfort was my only enemy. that the world was against me. that we were the only answer to their only question.i knew they'd understand someday, when they were old, perhaps gray. i knew that when their grandchildren were the ones taking care to tidy up their lonely houses, when all but a few of their dearest had passed, when their bodies were worn from years of frivolous use, our voices would be the ones they heard.
