I drank too much coffee (again,) in the vain hope to jolt myself awake from this half-sleep. You’re in my dreams, which have prolonged their durance into the everydayness of my life. So now you’re a complete cycle of dream: night, and day. Just like the spinning of the earth, you don’t stop running circles around me. I want you, but you’re too far away to get an actual grip on you.
I wish I could stop missing you, that I would stop keeping myself linger in this dream-like reality. One in which I’m not doing this all alone. One in which I’m still in the comfort of your arms. One in which everything was all right, and I never felt the urge to leave. Yet, here I am, the lonely wanderer above the sea of fog. Just a little less like high art by Caspar David Friedrich, and more like an emotional car wreck.