Fourth of July

I want to never want again. I want to never again long for that which I cannot have. I wish to never again yearn for the unattainable, or pine for the impossible. I wish to never again ache for the unfathomable, or cringe at the feet of impracticality. I wish I had never bedded 'want,' 'need,' or 'appetite.' But, above all, I wish I had never befriended fervor. Fuck fervor and its timelessly tightening grasp on youth's residue. Fuck fervor and the gaping cavern that tragically awaits its replenishment. Fuck fervor and all the fireworks, sparklers, and colors that go along with it - fuck fervor's reds, pinks, and fuchsias . . .