So I quit reading. Yeah, that's right. No more baudelaire. No more shakespeare. No more hemingway. Sad sad hemingway. Nah, none of that stuff. I don't want anything to do with it anymore. All it is is denial. Self-denial man. No more Joyce, Faulkner, Twain. I don't want it anymore! I can't do it man. I can't handle the depravity. The fucking self loathing. The escape man, the fucking escape. All you're doing is searching man. Waiting for the man. That's all you do is search search search. Just looking for anything you can get. Just a fucking drop. Anything you can relate too. Anything that will let you feel that you just might be something other than human.

I'm telling you man. The first time I met her was near the metro station in san francisco. I'll never forget that day in april. One of those days that people will tell you is beautiful. You know the ones. Where the sky is all blue without a cloud in the sky. And the is sun oh so bright. Yeah, one of those. These people have the nerve to tell you what's beautiful. God these people have some nerve. As if a sweltering sun beating down on you is some how beautiful. I'll never forget it. I had met her initially through the internet. The world wide web to be more precise. Through some story that I had posted on a website. She commented on it. Told me how much she liked it. Eventually it came to pass that we resided near each other. And so there we were in the busy streets of the city. I'll never forget the way she smiled. Man, that girl had a smile. If everyone smiled like that everyones lives would be 10 times more enjoyable. And yeah, you know the story. We talk, we walk, we have coffee, etcetera, etcetera, etcetera. Now you're thinking, what the fuck does this have to do with the above paragraph? This is where it all fucking begins. You see, in the middle of conversation about writers that we like to read she tells me that SHE WRITES. I can't really put a finger on it man. I can't really tell you what crept into me. But it crept into me like swine flu. You're fine and next thing you know you're fucked. What exactly crept into me? A fear like no other fear i've known before. A terrible fear. I knew what was coming and I wanted absolutely nothing to do with it. But of course it came. Just like it always does. Just like the fucking sweltering sun. She asks me if I would like to read some of her poetry.

Yes reader, I am ashamed. But I did it. I had to. You see dear reader I didn't want to become Honesty's idiot. Bound to it like a mangy animal and be called pet for the rest of my miserable life. Do you see the dilemma here! I told her what I had to tell her. I was quick and stern about it. I was straight up and serious with this young girl. I told her I wanted none of it. I didn't want to see it. I DIDN"T WANT TO READ IT!!!!

"But why seeyouinjune, why would you say such a thing to this young girl?"

Yes I am horrible. I grant you that dear reader. But witness my dilemma. Witness my burden! I knew it would be horrible. I knew her poetry would be bad. I just wanted to end it right there. I didn't want the presentation. The palm of my trembling hand cradling my face as I read each stanza. Each atrocious stanza! The clichéd rhyming, the broken structure. I didn't want Honesty to wrap the leash around her hand anymore than she already had. I knew it would be bad. bad bad bad bad bad.

"But seeyouinjune how could you know it would be bad?"

Don't give me that dearest reader. You know just as well as I know that it was going to be bad. Don't put yourself in the same dilemma that I'm in. I'm telling you you don't want this. And her reaction you ask? I can't tell you how much it breaks my heart. I hate myself for all of this to this day. I didn't want her to lose that smile. That perfect smile that I wished everyone had. But there it went. It faded into something that was more of a smirk. You know the look. The stunned one that says I'm looking for an answer to your out of the blue beautiful day answer. Which I obliged. I kept it honest without keeping it too honest. I told her that I didn't like reading poetry, but I occasionally will write it if the sun happens to not be too bright. And that seemed to be a good enough answer for her. And so it goes. You know the rest dear reader. I overcome the squalor of my situation and eventually me and the girl with the perfect smile fall in love together.

Of course eventually things will fall apart and relationships will end. As did my relationship with the girl with the perfect smile. Which is what it is. However, there was one thing that I couldn't shake. And that was the moment that she asked me if I cared to read her writing and I told her that I didn't want to. I couldn't shake the moment. Eventually it grew and grew and grew upon me. Until I started to think about all of the literature I had read. All of that Camus, Dostoevsky, Kafka. That socialist London. I started to feel the same dilemma rise. Not that any of those authers were bad writers. Quite the contrary. No, it wasn't that. It was that I could see how it was becoming bad for me dearest friend. I wanted to leave all of those authors. All of those books! This thing that we sit and praise and entitle with the name "literature". Thing is dear friend is that I wanted to go into reclusion. I wanted to become a recluse and withdraw to the crowded streets. To the metro. Back to where girls with perfect smiles roamed. Where the buildings scraped the sky. I wanted to find this girl named Esmé and go into reclusion with her. I've never met Esmé. I've never seen Esmé. And to be quite frank with you dearest friend I don't even know if Esmé exists or not. What I do know is that Esmé is beautiful and Esmé is perfect. Even more perfect than a girl with a perfect smile. Don't ask dearest friend. You know just as well as I do that she is.

So here I am brothers and sisters. I have given up reading and gone into reclusion. To dwell in this city, this community with my fellow brothers and sisters in search for Esmé. Because Esmé is beautiful and Esmé is perfect. And Esmé is the solution to all of this squalor. Because Esmé is love dearest brothers and sisters.