I lightly dread to sleep, my dreams betraying what I wish to feel. They expose to me what I wish what not to admit to myself. The reliability of their discomfort surrounds me, even waking. In the morrows always lurking, a flee. To assert oneself on the curve of a line with an end called death, to take a stance in time, fright compels the man to feel.
Oh you, whose existence seems to call out to me. What do I say to the one whom I feel connected? There is such a something I'm left longing. To grab onto someone so as to not spiral alone. To call to them, with a feeling called possibility.
Magnets, or atmospheric gravity, or the untimely pull of resentment. I'm left calling out to you via that which you despise, unanswered. Relics of mortality furnished the sepulchre like worms inhabited my heart.
And where are you, in that spot that despises me? Where is my peace that you took? The night sky mocks, the clouds pity: you.
My companion, my beloved. How long?
