The Morning Sun When It's In Your Face Really Shows Your Age

Hello old friend.

You would think a lot would have happened, what with the daily task of getting up from day to day.

College hasn't changed me so much as reminded me who I was to begin with. Here I am, wide awake way past the second rem cycles of any other souls I know.

I miss Richmond. I feel as if I am cheating on my first love. Hampshire breathes so much life in me, its hard to exhale sometimes.

I'm lonely. But perhaps that's what is to be expected 500 miles away from Rashka.

Lovely came back from a ghost last week, only to evaporate again in Saturday hopes.

And yet here he is again for me, beckoning me to come to him this weekend.

It was in that pause of breath from him that I thought back to the lovers this past year. All of them have been attempts to forget what happened the morning before I left.

I don't think what made him lose his mind was my entirety so much as my eyes.

I can't seem to get past that gaze. Every other boy causes panic in the back of my chest. I end up alone in a crowded bed.

It's hard to be in love with something that doesn't exist anymore. Its a small child playing with the rope hung up in the tree from her step mother's latest attempt to vanish.

It's inhaling and praying that the molecules take the ache to write away from your fingers.

It's knowing that I will love him if he is a woman. If he is a ghost. If he is a gravestone stuck in weeds.

And perhaps that is wonderful to have something so strong so young. But I do mourn the years of fun and innocence in intimacy that I have leapt over.

I'm a puzzle piece in the wrong box. But how I would love to fit one more time.