My heart is beating, so i think. But I can’t hear the the rhythmic pulse that works to keep this body alive. You are my heart; the blood in my veins but it feels so empty this far from you. When I’m cut, the wound is dry and merely throbs in a dull pain. Sometimes it feels as if I’ve had novocain injected straight into my veins. And yet I know that really this numbness is nothing real, as my tears constantly remind me of.
I feel so helpless and so lost like I’m floating on a makeshift raft far away at sea, all by my lonesome. I’ve always been a loner, but even the most anti-social of us has at least one person that we long for — that even unconsciously our hearts and souls strive to capture and pull in close to us to fight back the onslaught of loneliness. I’ve been brutalized and trampled on and so many thoughts cross my mind that anything rational is stuck in traffic, unable to reach their destinations of the processors that will bring me back down to earth and get me going. I’m trapped in my own little world where I never left your side and I travel back there often when reality isn’t kicking me in the ass.
I’m tired, babe, of traveling in the dead of summer through the most barren and dry terrain I’ve ever known. My throat is scratchy; my tongue is dry. My hair has turned to dust and whisked away in the hot afternoon breeze. Lips cracked; joints stiff. White polk-a-dotted skin reddening beneath the merciless sun. This is life without you, here in the bay. And the future could not be a more frightening topic of thought for me.
Every day is the same for me, but I also know that things are going to change. They have to because that is what is written into my future here in the next few months. This routine I’m now swirling in will eventually reach the end of the tail of the whirlpool and drop me into someplace new, but I have no idea if a parallel maelstrom will drop you in along side me or transport us as far away as possible from each other. I can’t stomach the thought of being separated from you, my love. Already this wall of distance is too high where all I can see and hear of you is a mere reflection of reality. Nothing but pixels and mimicked sound waves replicating your presence on a screen, if you want to get technical.
And yet in the end, these are only words on a digital plane. They hold no power — only sentiment of longing for that which is not. A complainer’s tool, to be sure, of which I am sure I am the best — complainer, that is. I’ve never been particularly strong or intelligent. My only true asset has been my love for you, burning like the sun at dawn.
Truly in awe of the Sunrise, which is your heart.