juvenile quarrels.

it's a lackadaisical concern, really, if i must be honest and forthright in this judgement. i am not broken, i haven't even really been bent. my gaze has turned on it's side and now disperses puzzlement throughout the world. did you honestly think that i would be offended? well, then you would have been correct.
the scorn of someone brushed green with envy is what you must have expected, that is all i can surmise. you expected the reaction, it was planned. you wanted to see the blood flush from my ears, a realization crossing my face that i might in fact lose something you see as so valued in my eyes. a bitter resentment for myself, thoroughly self-loathing, and ready to snap my full attention back to you after your brush with the wild side.
however dear, i grew old on the wild side, i have seen it's perils.
you could have seen the blood flush from my face, the dropping in my stomach had you been there to witness it. you are several years late. images encoded in lines on numbers stretching across the midwestern plains to format on an artificial screen can not, will not, ever shake me again.
so, now, as i ponder your words, not to mention this current situation, i will now put down the pen and let you wonder what could have been. you will be interested in knowing just why you never heard from me again, but, you will not know. maybe, i will enlighten you, and your throat will run coarse with explanation, raspy not from cigarettes, all though they have had their toll.
juvenile quarrels for court-marshaled sins are for younger men. as for me, i will sit back and watch the countryside dream by through the passenger seat windows as the sweet southern wind screams my name.