I am a catcher of spilled guts
and a spiller of my own.
I let everything go in coffeeshops and on street corners and with a cell phone pressed against my ear while driving. I talk about minor details and events that, for one reason or another, consume me at the moment. I obsess and mull over in broad daylight. It has been a very long time since I have thought anything of it.
But under the comforting blanket of night, in locked cars on silent streets, in quiet dorms at ocean's edge, in broken bedrooms, they come to me and spill the things that, in the light of day, they can't speak of. And over the years, I have learned when to say nothing, and when to personally relate. I have learned, generally, when to hold, and when to hold back. I have learned when to say that everything will be all right, and when that isn't good enough. I don't always do it right.
Comrades, close friends, acquaintances, strangers, lovers. Everyone needs someone to trust, even if only for a few hours. I'm just trying to make sure everyone gets home safely.