I'm back minutes later, in my deserted playground. I song I haven't heard of or thought of in years is now stuck in my head. The metaphor for this website is now taking on a visual shape of all the places I've loved and lost and even if I return to, even if I could, won't be the same. I feel myself drawn here, and if I don't write I'll burst and destroy myself. I feeling that's vaguely familiar but one I can't remember the last time I experienced. The beach with the ducks, the stream under the brush, the ditch behind the abandoned fields, the hiding spot under the thorn bush, the lake with the mallards and the fat family hotel, ferns green crushed under my jeans, the tin roof of the old garage. In my empty playground there are smells too. The approach of hurricane god, cheap leather pouches and smelly potato chips from faraway lands, cologne that always ends up being deodorant. I have a sense that my life is stuck on repeat. But it's not my life, I'm in a new place with new people new experience. My mind is on repeat. My mind is on repeat. Suddenly, I'm lost in the space between forgotten and remembered and I don't know where all the pieces go. It feels amazing and sad. I hear him snoring in the background as the laptop one play sound so I can get the familiar forgotten song out of my head. So it's playing in loop as well. When was the last time I was driven by sleep deprivation to seek solace in the written word. So natural and disorienting. Go to bed Go to bed Go to bed.
Harrumph.