“Days Go By,” still, I think of you as the song goes. Days I wish I’d never seen… E-Day forty-one years ago, Jan 31st four years ago, today, but no. Aug 24th wins this year. The worst day ever. B III never met HER, nor did 2-V. Don’t B Hatin’ Virgil.
Tuesday, December 30, 2025
Journey 182 ~Don’t B Hatin’ Virgil~
Dear Future Wife,
You know that I love you, right? More than my boys? Isn’t that always the question? Braxton was here before. Um, us…
As in “Physical.” I’m not Olivia Newton-John old. As in “passin’, passin’ away.” “The Crossroads? Bone Thugs-N-Harmony? Yeah, that’s more my speed. But the music?
Honestly, lover, it’s not blowing up the skies, the bullets flying, or my old bones cracking that I’m trying to block out right now. Well, more so December 31st… New Year’s Eve. The ticking of the damn clock. You know I almost said cock, ha! And I’m sure I said cuck today. But either at the old Day Job or my dream job. Either would fit. Am I right?
But I don’t want to talk about today. And never tomorrow. I want to write a letter this year. But I ain’t got time for that. No, sorry, my love.
“I fill my lungs with fear and I Exhale!”
It’s My Turn to Fly, The Urge ‧ 2000 (Titan A.E.)
And sadly, I hated the whole year. Hell, I have every day “documented.” But which day is the most hated? Why not loved? I love you, our children, and I am pretty fond of Virgil.
So no, I don’t hate him. And I’m sure he doesn’t hate me for not walking him today or catching the sunset. Did you feel how cold it was today? I should really know, love.
Yesterday, I left a comment about ICE and the Ninth Circle of Hell. They betray everyone, while I only betrayed my firstborn son. It’s about to be five years on January 31st, and I couldn’t save my Braxton. ACCEPTANCE isn’t in my vocabulary. But unfortunately, like MAGA and the Cracker Hats, there is always HATE.
And if I HATE one day out of this whole Braxton forsaken year, it’s honestly…
Sunday, August 24, 2025, at approximately 6:00 AM. It’s always a “Sunday Bloody Sunday,” my love. My “Endless Love.” I’m “Hopelessly Devoted To You.” Seriously?
Like I am every single year. Why? Because every one of them was supposed to be the last beloved. Ever since I was “Seventeen.” And you know I wish I’d been younger. I wish I’d never been… But I’m here—forty-one years, a harem, two furry boys. B does count.
But on that “Sunday Morning,” when you said what you said… Who’d I hate more? You, me, or even Braxton for making me stay to say goodbye to another year? Whatever. Don’t B Hatin’ Virgil.
1794 Days Without B III, Day 1235 of Virgil’s Arrival
B.L.M. Braxton’s Life Matters,
Will
