Emergence.
Hot skin smells like shisha and summer as I'm caught in this nocturnal eastern haze. Little lightning flashes fill every meniscus with red hair and a voice like captured laughter and lightning bugs. All of a sudden I'm thinking of driving to Lake Mary. I look up, only to find I've missed the best part of yet another conversation. I look around at this group of people, and they're so much better than I am at feeling content.
Even as I'm being denounced by yet another slow and swirling soul, my preternatural sense of direction is pushing me toward the door. Where have I been tonight? My heart's some kind of unnamed sonnet and my teeth feel like lonely wanderers behind my lips. I tell myself I'm sleeping at home tonight. Maybe. Cause I'm not about to pretend my feet aren't the compass to your magnetic north.
Even as I'm being denounced by yet another slow and swirling soul, my preternatural sense of direction is pushing me toward the door. Where have I been tonight? My heart's some kind of unnamed sonnet and my teeth feel like lonely wanderers behind my lips. I tell myself I'm sleeping at home tonight. Maybe. Cause I'm not about to pretend my feet aren't the compass to your magnetic north.