Only in the nighttime

My imagination walks with me, paralleling the universe, me and my head. Whats happening, and whats happening in my head. Sunrise, 8am breakfast, if you were here, I'd make some for you. Do I need to say that I am a loner? Do I need to explain that I am content living in my head, that I'm sorry for being incapable of providing the relationship you want from me? Just pick up the damn phone once and a while. One, two, three, Unfortunately sir, we've reached our quota of reservations for this year, can I interest you in another year? Or feel free to claw your way in at any time, but I can't make any guarantees about admittance. Love was the only thing I ever needed. 

I think you are interesting. Quiet and funny. And sort of wounded. Getting to know you is like a Christmas gift, you're my pretty puzzle. I want to run my  fingers over the wet grey grooves of your brain, sulci....gyri....sulci...I want to tell you where your memories are kept. And then I want to take them away. I'll watch your eyes replace the space with thoughts of me, baby bird, just another mother in the world. I kiss your lips and every once and a while, I peek, and run my fingers through your hair. Just a bucket of paint, stirred in a perfect swirl. Watching you watching me, we let the colors mix. 

Zipcode Organic 26

Gone People

Categories. The blinking search bar is the question in my brain, the "Alright, lets get started" followed by an awkward silence when I realize just wanted to solve the problem doesn't actually help solve it. If only I could narrow this down by a series of categorical eliminations. Medicine? Health? Is my destiny located under the Social Sciences tab? Am I a psych major with an interest in journalism graduate school? Interpersonal relations, holistic wellness, arts? The question of where my life is headed is making my life hard to live. It makes it hard to get up, hard to breathe. Hard to think. I'm hoping I find my answers at the bottom of a glass of green juice. At the end of a long run. In the comfort of routine. Im interrupted. I'm hungry. I need to heal and I don't want to dig my grave, and I don't want to hear the disappointment in her voice if i don't go back. The disappointment in in my voice when I say I couldn't do it.

I need to heal. I need to be alone. I am lost.

About Amber and Mr. McCartney

Thank you for being aware of what I deserve.

The bright yellow, the conscious burnout, the drip...drip...of my deathtrap. The weightless life and death of what was. Here you are in amber, and you don't need to tell me what I know. That it doesn't make a difference if I sit or I stand.
That maybe your a man, maybe your a lonely man, who's in the middle of something that he doesn't really understand.