I go to sleep but think that you're next to me

The last words she said to me were in a language I could never hope to understand. They took me abruptly out of the moment, probably one of the most important moments thus far; as I struggled to comprehend I forgot that she had run up the steps of my front porch, eyes wide in the dark of the street. I forgot that she was right here, lips pressed to mine, her hands searching my face, my hair, my body, for something, any indication of anything, really. Struck dumb by her words, I gave her nothing. That is why she walked away, just as swiftly and quietly as she arrived, the fog swallowing her whole.

Later I dreamt that I observed her from behind a window pane. She was moving farther and farther away. I could not speak. Tearing open the door, I practically lept outside, my eyes searchlights in the deepening fog, pinpointing her disappointed mouth. Still, I could not speak; I implored her with my eyes.

She only shook her head slightly, and then receded farther and farther away.

I woke up.


I am having more difficulty than usual looking people in the face today. I feel like they know what a fuck up I am. This is an issue. I need perspective. But I want to turn back time to last night, to that crucial moment, to actually be present. And then I want to race forward in time to tonight. I don't want now. Now is a huge obstacle. Why can't later be now? I have a chance at happiness tonight, messy, chaotic, intense happiness. I cannot wait. I cannot wait. I cannot wait.