Feel like spending a long, lazy Sunday afternoon wearing down mountains in Hell. Calm and complete in the middle of a red desert, treeless, serene, and empty except for the mountains I'll whittle to hills, mounds, and pebbles with this sleepy composure. I feel like an unspoiled Buddha, a gentle morphine dream, and the million years just fall away. Maybe I'll stop at the zoo, meditate on their fate, consider my strengths. Take a girl out and drink tea, watching the Germans march down Franch avenues. Maybe have some bread, some wine, some tender one-time love in an old hotel. Maybe that time has passed, but I feel so good.
It ain't success or failure. It's resolution. Last damn page in the book, who cares if there's a sequel? Damn.
I feel so relaxed.
It ain't a calm, ain't no eye-in-the-storm. Not surrounded by chaos, just unsatisfied folk working things through. And I feel so good.
Like a seamstress untied my knots.
Even my memory feels like it might come back.
It feels mellow.
It feels good.

And the best part is that ain't nobody I ain't told know that there was a resolution, much less a situation that needed it.

Lion goes to sleep with the lamb, I'm tellin' ya. Sleeps with, finds irreconcilable difference, parts as friends, it ain't quite, but two outta three ain't so bad.

Like being rocked to sleep on the smoothest curve.