It’s seven o’clock in the morning and as I drive away from you I convince myself that this world is an extension of my nervous system. I find myself fixated on the streetlamps rising above the median, hovering over the highway on either side, punctuating the pink and purple horizon with spots of light like dutiful soldiers unaware of how unnecessary they’ve become. For reasons only you would understand, this tugs at my heartstrings. Your rich baritone floods my mind and sends calming waves through my body, “Darling, you are such a remarkably, beautifully strange soul, and you couldn’t possibly imagine how much I love and appreciate that.” I register your scent, taking note of the way it wraps me like a blanket, soothing each and every over-worked, overwhelmed nerve ending. It’s 7:10 and as I drive further away from you this world convinces me that you are present in every one of my pieces.
* R[a/u]PTURE *
month
