Afters

Wake up early, too early, the street still sleeping and a sort of hang over drying on your lips. I dreamed something otherworldly; remembering it's just another work day seemed a cruel sort of blow to a soul that was busy flying. Send electronic apologies for my manic rambles, but the truth is I'm not sorry. I'm so done being sorry, so done thinking I'm sorry when I'm actually happy, so done thinking I'm failing that my savings account is low or my Instagram account is flawed when I'm actually busy squeezing the most juice out of this short life I possibly can; I doubt, so often I doubt, so often I think I created this ambition to have something to hold on to that wasn't square because someone once told me that square is lame but it's not true, that's not it at all, it's because once you've felt the way your love fills your gut and expands your chest and swims behind your eyelids it's all you ever want to feel and maybe that's a drug like any other but fuck it. If this drug kills me, at least it let me live.