Faults and All

Blindly running down a sloping road is not exactly my strong suit.

The dirt road is uneven and my shoes are not fit for this. 

I glance at a watch that hasn’t ran in months. 

To part ways with it would be uncomfortable, as its leather straps feel at home around my wrist.

Its hands point towards the wrong numbers.

“I love you faults and all”

A sweeping anxiousness winds its way through every crevice and vesicle of my body. 

The rhythmic crunch of the ground beneath my feet possesses the lifeless and metallic body. 

pat pat pat

like the ticking of a grandfather clock that reminds you of your childhood home

pat pat pat

tick tick tick

pat pat pat

tick tick tick

“Can’t you see that I love you faults and all?”,

sings the song, anyway.

Geographic Isolation

Everything unpleasant wrapped inside a bow-donning bundle of rags. 

A knife stabbed into the back of a loved one and twisted. 

Noticing an insect writhing in your food after you have taken a few bites.

A thousand tears soaking your favorite sweater - which is no longer comfortable

Dying, slowly and painfully. Being resurrected and dying, slowly and painfully, again and again and again and again and again.  

A painful diagnosis spoken through a hushed voice of your favorite doctor. 

Another knife, stabbed in the place of the last, but this time deeper. 

The painful sensation of being completely caught on fire, and then, with damaged nerves, a feeling of absolute nothingness. 

Hate. 

Longing. 

Hope(?). 

Angst that even Harry Potter couldn't manage to create. 

A gray sky, that you used to enjoy, is mocking you.

Humid air, that you used to enjoy, suffocates you. 

18,000 people crowded in one hall are all laughing at you. 

A flavorful beverage of berries has poisoned you.

Bloodstained cobble stone streets. 

Nothing resides in your stomach, but you don't feel it. It's as if you have the flu. 

Discovering a pair of old boots that you used to enjoy. You place one foot inside and invade a spider's home.

Nothing, just nothing.

A night spent crying at the stars, the same stars the other may be looking at.  

The stars are surrounded by emptiness, which eerily mimics the feeling in your chest. 

A sip of coffee that has been cold for quite a while now.  

Being the person in the urban legend who discovers the dead body underneath their hotel mattress. 

Poverty. 

Staring at the sea, just like last summer, but wishing you were thousands of miles beneath the surface. 

You would be of use to the creatures who call the sea their home.  

You are rather nutrient rich.  

An empty spot on your cheek.

An empty spot on your shoulder. 

An empty spot on your waist. 

Muggle photographs don't move. 

You envy the joyous look on your face and their's in that photograph. 

The same 18,000 people in an auditorium watching a performer who might feel similar to you right now.

You are in the back, in a seat. The darkness of the stadium is tinted blue from the stage lights. The air is cool. You don't feel it.  

After this, there may only be one more empty month on the other side of the planet. 

A home belonging to you both is warm and happy and perfect.  

It awaits you. You will be home soon.  

A filled spot on your cheek. 

A filled spot on your shoulder. 

A filled spot on your waist. 

Completeness. Perfection. 

 

 

 

Driving in a Car Towards the Sun

Two nights ago, I dreamt that I was driving in a car. I was driving on a coastal freeway. To my left, I could see the ocean. To my right, I could see rows and rows of thick pine trees. Straight ahead was the sun. The sun was bright and the windshield of my car created an annoying glare. It was eerily silent. There was a strange humming sound that was reminiscent of the room tone of a laundromat. This dream shifted back and forth from third person to first person. Occasionally I would be looking at my arms on the steering wheel or the ocean outside. At other times, I would be looking at myself looking at the aforementioned items. I was wearing my new horn rimmed sunglasses. 

I don't think I knew where I was going. I felt panicky and anxious. My emotions contrasted perfectly with the subtlety of the landscape. There might of been one or two more cars on the road, but they did not matter. Something mattered. I don't know what. Being surrounded by a thick forest and the whale's road was grounding. Everything was a bit hazy, as well. Maybe it was fog. 

see you. 

IKEA Furnishings Are Written in Parseltongue

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IKEA is a haunting place. Ana and I walked through it earlier today. It was rather enjoyable to walk about IKEA trying to pronounce the names of furniture.  

IKEA was crowded; therefore, it was panic attack inducing. IKEA is reminiscent of the Chamber of Secrets. As we walked through, I imagined a basilisk slithering through the labyrinthine showroom. 

Don't look capitalism in the eye or something?

Ana and I ate vegetable balls and then went to the Swedish food market. We bought elderflower juice, Swedish cheese, festive Swedish beverage, and a variety of other Swedish goods. These made for fascinating road trip snacks. 

We read a bit of Harry Potter in be car. 

I am to my house now. It is dark and cold. 

see you.  

Back to the Bay III

This morning I awoke in Ana's arms. I guess that she got in my bed in the early hours of the morning. It was very pleasant to wake up and see her face buried in my armpit.  

We began our morning by learning about the amazing creature that is the weasel. Weasels are so cool. We watched a video of a weasel attacking a seagull in a lake.

After a few hours of half sleep, we walked to the continental breakfast for the last five minutes of complimentary food. We got cereal and toast. The toast was good and fit for a giant squid. We drank bad hotel coffee. 

After the measly breakfast, we packed our belongings and started the drive back to Reno. Ana fell asleep on my shoulder. 

Ana asleep on my shoulder. The earbuds are probably producing the sound of Harry and the Potters. 

Ana asleep on my shoulder. The earbuds are probably producing the sound of Harry and the Potters. 

Ana was asleep for about forty minutes. In these forty minutes, I adjusted my glasses and listened to St Vincent.  

When Ana woke up, I told her how she had been asleep. She thought the picture I took of her sleeping was unflattering. I think it is quite the opposite.  

We are now just outside Sacramento. We will be in ikea soon. There are seemingly endless fields of crops and dead plants. The crops create diagonal patterns.  

The sun is hot. 

The sun is hot. 

see you