Feelin jaded; I guess that would be the term.
Sitting here with my sparkling nails reeking of nitrocellulose... drinking month old refrigerated Forgotten Wine with my needled toes curled underneath me and into the carpet...
Back home from a trip to another home. An old home that no longer feels like it, but still brings a slight sense of longing...
How are you?
That old life flashes before me with warmth, with ease... but I am no longer alive in it. Smelling the dusty, sun-and-exhaust-aged bushels of flowers shaking in the middle of the freeway, seeing a Storke along the way. Four years almost to the month when all of these things went away, and life pushed me forward, my brain emptied and my heart unsure...
What is life for you now? Oh how I want to know. Longing...worrying, wondering.
And yet, I cannot bring myself to find out more. To dredge up what must only now be settled. I miss something... but not enough to cause any more pain. I lift these tendrils of tragedy and want and fold them delicately into me, like a flower closing it's petals.
And I set them aside...
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