(no subject)
I am home now and there is this hollow feeling in my bones and thoughts. It is sort of as if all of my distractions have been scraped and stripped and scultped away so that all I have left is the reality that I am so far from the things I love. I have this brief interlude - twenty days - in which I can try to realign and reattach and reconstruct, but I seem to be incapable. It is very daunting. And I am very sad. Maybe I'll just eat some fruit salad instead.