Being As Napolean's Heart

"You're the girl of my dreams, apparently.
Now why do you have to live so far away?"

This quote from an old friend has come back to haunt me. I have found that temperate seaside living in affluent neighborhoods is meaningless when faced with the implications of a reality so complete, so haunting and unforgiving. I haven't written like this in quite some time but this feeling of organic, manufactured internal darkness, the literal knotting of the guts, like I could vomit all over myself, until my guts are empty (again) and even then dry-heave until my throat is slick with blood - it never fully fades. Maybe it never will.

This morning I had a dream that even now is beginning its inevitable recession from my memory. I feel like I have to write it all down if I stand any hope of holding on to the feeling, that faint glimmer of what others call "hope," the glimmer of which has grown dimmer with the passing of time.

I am listening to sprinklers kick on, standing in wet grass in bare feet, romanticizing about the places that are not here but rather where you are, wishing I were closer to where it is you rest your head at night.