i love sleeping cold.

i no longer am imagining the skin of your back making those noises like sandpapery slips on the thick skin of my palms. i'm forcing it back gently to make it easier. at night you are no longer with me. the mythology has begun to crumble under the blasphemy of a new regime. your name has been removed from my lips and cast out of my discourses.

the other day i thought of how amazing it should have could have would have, and it began to eat away a rut and a gorge and a jagged, craggy canyon into my day. and my mind began playing a solemn dirge over those thoughts.

i'm not doing this again.

and i'm certainly not going to hide from it either. i'm not leaning on crutches and tilting my head back and assuming the position of the forlorn wayward lover.

you do enough hiding for the both of us.

i remove my clothes and curl under the greying night, writing by candlelight and dreaming like i always have.

my notebooks hold all the answers as history has a way of circling around on itself.

_______________________

pictures! finally.