"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.