Im laying In bed wrestling with my sheets. Its so hot under them i feel humid all over. Like a mid equator jungle under a canopy of sweat. My eyes feel dry from my use of contacts as I manage to type on this four inch keyboard. The moans of Mikhail echo from behind the bathroom door. He seems he will be praying to the porcelain gods until morning. A long night of alcohol and regrets brought him there on his knees. He told me of a girl he had met, only to find someone confront him, saying she was his. That her body was his property, insuating that sense I imagine. The woman should have known better than to let an approaching man converse her for an hour with no expectations. Youre not a fucking tall tale come to life, you were probably just a set of tits and ass covering your disfigured personality. Pain still comes despite one looking the other direction.
Tuesday didnt come on today. That really worries me. The thought of not knowing when ill speak to her once more. I find my mind often wanders to places with her presence. Playing out the scenarios of life and how itll be.
Im often conflicted of the thought of living in a city. Imagining how busy and fast paced the streets would ne overwhelm me. The presence of others and the many eyes noting my existance; judging me faster than I can comprehend. The personalities, the possibilities, the reactions, the opinnions, the tangents are endless with so much information seeping through every little detail thats as apparent as the brightness looking directly into the sun. I cant wrap my mind around it. The acceptance of that happening is like trying to push a nail flush into my skin.
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