The Visionary

He said he could write about me but declined. So I'll take it upon myself to write about him, where do I begin? Perhaps with the weekend, where we meet, same time, same place, shining lights with cameras in face. They cry and we laugh, about the confrontation & the unfortunate aftermath. He sits at home, downs his last cup of Patrón, his only reply, "idk" (I don't know). After music making and picture taking, he wrestles with some bullshit that he should just let go. I tell him so, but he already knows. But this is the eb and flow - of his life. He hates broken commitments and mispelled* words. He's into action, no need for verbs. He's not the same middle school boy he use to be, he's into mixing beats with symphonies. Anyway, it's way past 3, I've lost my energy, although he declined, I challenge him to write a little about me.