Posted in My life - Written by God, produced by 21st Century middle America, and lived by me, myself, and I., Uncategorized

I think of you as still being here, with me. I feel your weight on my shoulder when I lay down alone, the scent of your neck filling my lungs, the cold of your feet chilling mine. I’m not lonely, I’m just alone at the moment, and this moment is bound to pass, eventually. 

I left you, ran away from you, rented a Dodge Charger, drove that bitch till the gas ran out, got on a sled with a full 10 Husky sledding team, road those bitches (a more appropriate use of the term here) until running into the Alaskan never-ending summer skyline, and STILL, when I caught my breath taking in that shimmering sunlight, I found myself holding out a hand and feeling empty when no fingers slid their way into mine. I say my hand felt empty because even though I did look away from that nightless view, my eyes felt cloudy, like the grass outside my parents house around 6:49am on a mild September morning; not so much wet, with drops falling off one after another, but moist, with the feeling that somehow a sudden drop in temperature has occurred, a chill down my spine, causing dispersion of the H2O molecules and suspending them in my field of vision. I was not crying for your hand, but without that weight my eyes did make the rest of the world seem a whole lot less clear.