I want to tell you everything that has ever happened to me and for you to bury the everything in an acorn in your back garden where nothing grows.

And on nights where we get too drunk, we will cry as though our bodies are 90% water and we can’t keep it in anymore.  The sun will rise as soon as it sets, and we will trace the lines on our empty palms and ask what happened to everything?  How could we throw everything away?

When I was young, I’d shove my sins through the sieve of the confessional box, straining away the shame of being a human being one whispered misdeed at a time, trying to be good and stay good as each day I got older and everything got harder to resist.

And when are drunk, we will love each other more than when we are sober.  Our skin will be like light and each sunrise will be more beautiful that everything we’ve ever seen.  We’ll feel younger then, like fetuses filled with organs and waiting to be released to a place where we are imperfect and everything is shit and everything is light.

And when I am old, I want to hold everything in my hands and say, here is everything.  I am old and here is everything, and I think that even then, I’ll still be afraid to die, my sins will still be on me after all of that straining away.

I don’t hope to know everything or be everything or see everything.  As of now, I know nothing, but I have a feeling we might be acorns, and I have a feeling we might be light.

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