Is it a bird, a plane.... It's Ryan in a strange jacket.

A narrow street in a small town winding down and curving around

the smell of fresh cut grass and summer time grills

relatives laughter and talk of old times

ice cold tea, bacon, and eggs, fried catfish and beer filled kegs

serenity mellow break time out relaxation.

You may be in the south if you see fried more than five times on the
menue... Yummy.

Lazy day in central park
children playing and parents frying
Sounds of domesticated squirrels and brave birds smell of dirty water
dogs

Your silence is so loud it keeps me from dreams and makes my every
breath seem like a scream
In my head I am playing out the talk we are not having
Carefully calculating outcomes and then changing variables to further
influence the intended results only to reach the same ends the same
sleepless ends
My eyes and heart grow heavier with each mock disscusion until I feel
I will fall through the bed and floor onto the hard concrete beneath
Oh to crushed by the weight of this and to find solice and sleep.

Be well,
Ryan

Through sleep covered eyes and dream stained cheeks my feverish mind
twists and turns gaining momentum with each passing foothold
each passing monument I recognize more and more where I have been and
grow more aware more sure more familiar and excited for what's to come
As if returning home after being gone too long and discovering
nothings changed it's still perfect

Be well,
Ryan

So today I purchased some serious chef knives... No really, these
things are so sharp they can cut tension. I am now and forever in love
with sharpness and will dedicate my life to the pursuit of edginess.

Ryan