A lot has happened in such a short span of time and

I am still unable to sit these thoughts gathered around my table in their proper order. There are people who I need to see clearest in my head, yet seem to cloak themselves in a foggy blur, or I am trying to look over a tall, broad shoulder behind which is...Him, the looming grayness of cold, wet, ambiguous temperament, is the least who needs the glimmer of words that I can’t find beneath the dust, pile of dirty clothes, and slapdash clutter of my disorganized existence. His head is turned away, but I am sure his visible ear is not ready for an earplug of my sound.

These days, I am mostly shuffling from one point to the next, no time to slow down, too hurried to get in a decent thought. The flurry of my today life is probably one bad decision to the next – we will not know soon enough. I am at the mercy of my pretty active limbic, and my body hesitantly follows too late for my brain’s slow-to-form protests.

Some mornings, I wake up to feel my nakedness, and it’s alright, even if a red towel is insufficient to ward off the morning and other shivers. It’s alright, and yet the descent of heavy reality makes me long for the solitude wherein which I can always trust myself to deal with it better, much better than when a dark body lies so closely beside and beneath, breathing hugely slowly through lips that, when they find their aim, the swiftness electrifies to the hair.