my baby's on an airplane. she's been in the air for an hour. i've been feeling alone for an hour. it will begin to hit me when i crawl into a cold bed. it will hit me again in the morning when there's no one to help keep me in bed. it will hit me and hit me, an emptiness.

yet, i am not really sad. the what-if's of our relationship have evolved into the what-next's. from jigglypuff to wigglytuff. it's going to take a lot of thread to stitch these quilts together. the fabric of reality. this book of dreams. no one really knows how this story ends. the dialogue is choppy and the plot's torn in places. entire scenes will need to be re-stitched. rewritten. yeah, my analogies are bleeding together again. choose your own adventure.

if you would like change everything and try spending the rest of your lives together, go to page 73.
to wait and do nothing for awhile, go to page 76.

so, fuck, back to this grind. back to this life that doesn't come home to find india playing music or video games or reading or napping in bed. somewhere, east of here and miles above, my heart travels alongside clouds.