ink on watercolor paper.
i never became the prince charming i thought i would grow into.
i never became the rock star i thought i would be.
my work does not sell in galleries in soho or hang in itialian museums.
i never became a jet-fighter pilot or architecht.
women don’t trip on the sidewalk when i pass.
most opportunities presented to me are passed up.
i have let most of my friends vanish into the fog of my memory.
i have let most of my memories go into the fog of the past.
despite any company i may keep, i am mostly alone.
there are fractions of me that belong to those few, close people.
no matter how quiet and simple my life is,
no matter how many nights i cannot (or chose to not) sleep,
no matter how many walks i take alone,
i am not lonely.
i do not need more.
those truly close to me give me more love than i ever thought i could have.
when i look into the mirror i am faced with a surprising man.
although i may aspire to more,
for now, my simple life fits me like a glove.