Most of my thoughts go down the toilet, or the drain, along with biological filth. In a snap, those ephemeral musings disintegrate into the void. It's like even after 10 laborious hours of sleep, you still wake up without remembering a single speck of your dream. You wake up wanting to sleep more.
I always wish I had a pen and notebook with me.
It's significant: how you rescued me from dire rehabilitation and now, I am back to civilization. I thought of this as I stared at the half moon a while ago: I had a mental kind of lunar eclipse. When was the first (or the last) time we looked at it together? When was the last (or the first) time we took each other's breath away? I scoff at myself whenever, unconsciously, I long and search for things that don't matter the most.
Just now, here's what came into my mind: firsts and lasts are, more often than not, interchangeable.
We are empty spaces. The empty spaces. And this leaves us with all the drama.
Our love is on automatic pilot.