Snow fell now and again for the last two days, sometimes thick and sometimes thin. I am mesmerized by snowfall, by the cross currents and riptides and chaotic swirliness of an enthusiastic and unexpected blizzard... sometimes I'm catching a single flake and following it all the way down, sometimes glazing my eyes over to blur up the feeling. I don't know what it is anymore.
And the air, the negative space there, like when they put dye in your blood for X-rays so to see what you cant see, the snow shows you the myriad crosscurrents of air like we never see it.
I want all the things I used to have. Those days of exotic sunshine, absurd fashion, insect bites, and anguish. And my years in the dark corners and secret places, my fascinating and obsessive friendships. I want those late hours and the simplicity and timelessness of our esoteric pursuits.
I don't want memories and self control. I want to stay up until 4am every night because it feels natural to me. Every effort to the contrary is a failure, cropping up symptomatically in new and novel ways.
Maybe I am not ready for what comes next, poised as I am for that letter to tell me my future is mine. The house, the family draw them closer, the officesecretclubhouse, really a glorified version of the hay loft I used to hide in...
Lately, to be honest I am just exhausted. Staying up till 4am (which I am doing) is a relapse binge and it feels damn good.
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