this must be the place
I'm all alone out here tonight. Suddenly the only smoking chair on the entire strip. Only doormat too now that I'm looking at it. For now, the new normal.
Fighting with delusion all day. Sorting through files of fantasy and real possibility. Remembering probably the last thing she said to me. Last running statement of a true prophet before the retrograde.
"How's your honey?"
...
"Oh..."
...
"He'll probably see his mistake. He'll come back around. Stay safe jita."
Moon in an empty room now, left the lights on and everything.
Intimacy is a messy thing isn't it. I always feel it's at it's most beautiful when everyone is their most comfortable. The afterglows, messy nudity, shameless bowel movements, breakfasts and dinners in underwear, shared showers just to save water and keep the talk alive.
Fuck I was close, so close, I think this new home has only barely tasted it. Salt on the tongue in comparison to the other appetizers and full course meals...
Perhaps she was never meant to be christened with such things. At least not on my end. A sign she's only liminal? I'm not so sure anymore. They'll probably move in together, leave me to my own devices. Leave me to cuff up or find my place in the dreaded body snatcher that acts as though it's my childhood home.
I dreamed about it again, the outdoor couch, the wooden dining table. My couch found it's place. Heaven knows she's miserable now...