you have a place in my room.
my plasma of thoughts float around in smoke rings I blow but I think I try to suffocate the ghosts of us.
that night or pre-morning or morning; time stretched the memory of us in there. but the room still emanates with the smell of your memory.
it’s still vivid, it’s colors more vibrant than the ghosts of past nights.
between talking to you in the afternoons and lamenting with the ghost of you in the evenings, there are moments interspersing your presence with mine. I toy with your presence, I wish it diluted mine but it brings it front and center and back and in between. my self stretches across the canvas starting from the actual version of you and the idealized. i treat you like i treat myself and that is how i know i love you.
i do not buffer or pad my thoughts i just am. and i let you be. whichever way you come to me as, actual or idealized. i do not toy with you the way i do with the others. you’re different or rather you are the present and you may walk amongst the others if i run fast enough ahead or you may choose to run alongside me because i will attempt to flee onwards away from you and myself. away from the moment and onwards to the next.
most of them never catch the flight i am on. the flight from myself or rather to myself is one most people do not board.
and if i knew i was boarding it i probably would choose to stay behind; recreating the flight from myself yet again.
awareness doesn’t change the flight it only hastens it with the anxiety of consciousness.
beyond 