stories

when we are asleep we know everything;

our dreams cannot fool us, only waking life

we are our own gods, the storytellers,

i am living alone in an asian metropolis

i am living in a cottage with mystic people

i am having a love affair with someone i

see occasionally in real life,

but have never actually spoken to.

we do not question boundaries and

despite the strangeness, nothing is absurd

when we wake we have tears in our eyes

we are/i am , pacing amongst thousands and millions of other lonely humans.

mundane activities increase in the summer. they plead for company the most, as the passing of time is fatal.

i was always lonely in the shower . always.

and i was always aware of my shortcomings that are a result of being still only a kid. those feelings made time slow and stretched it thin across short periods, almost unbearable, but nevertheless bittersweet; perfect for nostalgia to be felt in the future.

summer led to too much time to sit and think

which led to too much time to be drunk

which led to too many conversations in which i butcher my thoughts and express them, prematurely in crude formats.

these poisons of the idleness of summer-bodies led to the worst moment:

re-realizing i've only ever really known the loneliest people

i'm drawn in to them and expect to find comfort in the shared trait, but there are moments when you lay right next to them and feel they're just as lonely as they were without you;

my stomach sinks

i can smell my own fear