"de los sue?os del pasado y presente..."

mary made the best of it, but we'd still only gotten so far, enough to make ourselves feel half-decent. and this was only the beginning, but i'd gotten used to not finishing something i'd start. hanging out with mary all the time took its toll. listen, i'm writing this drunk off my ass and half-coherent to my own thoughts. frankly, it's kind of sad. but i'll make this up and force myself to be honest about the situation because it's been far too long since i've put something down on here. most days i'd rather just leave a blank thought and let the rest work for itself, but the subconscious powers within force it upon myself to expose these terrible and heinous truths to open eyes.if only we knew the things we'd speak. if only we knew the things they'd seen. and then there was the forest hill beyond benson's point. we'd only gone there a few times, mostly in the summer, and most of the time it wasn't all that special. the point of even continuing with this charade? haven't the slightest damn clue. you play the sad fool so well. play it and play it again. like jim on the hill. goddamn you. never the spine of you. play it so goddamn well. that's why they turned out the way they did. you could cry, a thousand times over, you could cry, and cry, and cry, but it's just the part. there's no real sense. son of a bitch. but there was a sun that day, and it set like the rest of them, over the hilltop, laying down like bedsheet, bursting with color and hope. this was what we'd always hoped for but never saw. this is what we'd always thought but never showed, never wrote, never said. you sorry piece of trash. these are what's within the will-less, the fearfull. there was nothing ever there to hope for. such a dangerous thing. but those suns returned fresh and beautiful skies, and their stars were something special. but it made no sense, it made no effort, at all...