and 'pure' rhymes with 'sure', as either "assurance" or "sure full of shit"?

this last week is one i am already regarding with "ooh, some crazy shit" sentiment. working frantically and constantly. soul-crushing cramps that allowed me to go home early today (with the caveat that i pick up yet another fucking shift); i drove in lazy evening sunshine, the window down, supertramp's 'dreamer' blaring (and remembering dancing naked in my various lairs many times to that song). helix doing horribly. knowing that i must conjure the kindness and mercy to let him go tomorrow. i have been coming to terms with this for the last ten months. he has been with me through every crappy post-bob apartment, through every weird relationship, through interstate moves. he endured sarah and charlie, b-mac and his bong hits, the stray cats i would bring home, the three months with my parents while i dilly-dallied around europe. he was my radar for potentially unsavory menfolk- the ones he liked got to stay in my life a little longer. he tolerated tiresias beating the crap out of him, hecatomb hating him, the various reptiles and rodents, incense oversaturation. he tolerated me. i have had him since i was fucking nineteen years old. i wince at the cliche, but this is breaking my fucking heart.
it is incredibly nice to have an unexpected evening free. it is a warm and gentle night. flowers are blooming. the air smells of growth. a man hanging out of his upstairs window called "hey, how you doing?" as i walked underneath, and i happily answered, feeling that sultry summer vibe for the first time in a long while. knowing that things are going to be Just Fine. i may have even said that aloud, shoes clattering on the darkened residential street: "it's going to be okay." i immediately corrected myself: "things already are." the word 'pure' resonated for another block. i made a promise after leaving t last january: it is better to be alone than lonely. expectations are sodomy for the soul. i would no longer put up with bullshit. i would listen to and act on my instincts. me against the world, but in a cool, comfortable way.
i sound like a fucking stoner. fact: i never write in this when i am altered. i mortify myself handily whilst sober.