and more than ever I hope to never fall where enough is not the same it was before
It's been so long that I can't even remember. Looking back, everything tastes the same, looks the same, is the same, but the smell is different.
And now it feels as if time has left us behind, so far behind, that I'm looking through every book I have and I can't even seem to remember anymore. I can't even find you or who you are or where you live and sometimes it suffices to say that maybe it's a compulsion, to know where you are now and what in the world you are doing...
I can't believe this is how it ended. Or why the way we wrote on the tables and bled on the skating rink holds more life and rings more bells than the thought of the house and the past I found after a decade, even when I could point out every single thing. The black wallpaper is still stitched in my mind, stitched in time, along with silver pencil crayons and drawn-on magazine covers and the rooms I can no longer go back to not because I no longer associate with the people who lived there but because even they are long gone and far away from those places. We made so many promises, and I always regret half of everything.
Everything seems out of grasp now, too out of touch to be touched, and it hovers around the fringes of my mind and my memory, taunts and teases, the ingredients of disaster and the elements of memory. More than anything though, I wish I could go back and find you now. I should have treasured those times more because such times are a rarity in themselves now. And I wish I had realized sooner how much I'd be missing you now.
don't ask. 32 more pages of bio need to be done...