It's just my imagination drifting

I spent months talking to this person I thought was Tom. Months of my life trying to figure out who he was not just through conversation, but looking at his social media. Learning the real him as much as the fake. I thought they were one in the same.

The things my mind can't move past. His love for books, and art, and music. His sense of humor, not just what people assume is it, but the surreal intelligent humor he uses on a daily basis. The things while I was trying to know him I assume most people wouldn't notice. Like when he posted himself reciting as many Canadian prime ministers as he could. It was his intelligence there that was incredibly sexy. Not just the random facts he could say from the back of his head, but the fact he knew them in the first place.

Not just his love for music, but vinyl. The only real way music should be heard. I don't know if it is a generational thing, but a real music lovers heart. The smell of a record you just pull out of a sleeve. I see him still making an everyday name for himself. And I know that behind that facade of what everyone wants from him, that there is this real life, human, intelligent, actual being. I like that his eyes don't open to the same size all the time. Likely a look developed after looking at people and thinking what the fuck so much. My eyes do the same thing. I like them even more in his glasses. I've seen him in a thousand black t shirts, and prefer him in purple. And his bowed legs. I love the fact that even with age this man still enjoys wearing checkered vans. In the same way I do. Something I refuse to ever grow out of.

I can't help but wonder if the circumstances were different if we could of ever been friends. I'm not a fan. Before the last couple of months I hadn't thought about his since I was a teenager watching his stunts on MTV. I don't much believe in celebrity crushes. I don't follow bands, or actors,or actresses. I don't really even watch TV. Rarely movies. I much more prefer creating, living my life rather than watching others live theirs out. So these thoughts I carry now perplex me. I don't have crazy people thoughts like following him on tour, or smelling his underwear.

But I do wonder what it's like to look him in his eyes, and listen to him talk about something he feels passionately about besides show biz. To have an actual conversation about something that isn't rehearsed. I think about this life I thought about for months. Rubbing his feet after a long day. And making him laugh, not waiting for him to make me to. I thought so long about pillow fights, and pacing back and forth in front of his studio doors until he could give me his undivided attention.

I thought about him in a raw human sense of being.  I actually thought about him. Learning his likes and dislikes. And kissing his jaw line. And listening to him snore after a long day. Holding his hand. And honestly I feel bad now that I think about these things. Knowing they are not plausible. Knowing that I really am the one torturing my own mind at this point because it was always just a dream. Knowing that in the real world people who live lives like his will never see a day where they see someone like me. I've never dreamed of being rich and famous. It's a little grotesque for me. But imaging a life with this person I thought I was talking to for months came to a screeching halt. And I liked imaging the smell of books together. Rainy day cuddling. Making his coffee. Showering together. Talking with the bathroom door open.

I hadn't thought of those things with another person in so long. Even living with Benga, it wasn't me imaging those kinds of things. I was just reacting, just living day to day without hope.

There were no mutual ideals we shared. But studying this man for months knowing we enjoy and embody so many of the same things. Knowing he could be a good person. And we had so much in common. I'm left wondering if I'll ever dare to dream a dream like this again. And just as I told him, it didn't hurt because it wasn't him, it hurt because I opened myself up. And at first that was true. But now, now it's more than that. Now its the disappointment from bearing the idea that there might not be someone in the world whose brain is like mine. It's the idea of settling for less than that kind of sexy intelligence.  It's giving up the idea of reading while playing footsie with someone. And the thought that maybe I won't find someone whose eyes do the same things as mine. Something maybe only the heavens could of aligned.

It's an unnerving fear that I won't end up with someone I could share so much with, that there would never be a dull day of our lives. It's a question the Universe of possibilities and still being forsaken. He's adventurous and gentle at the same time. And in all my life, I haven't met other humans like that.

It's a genuine disappointment that he was incredible to me. It's mourning a person that is still alive and never knew you existed. That's a different kind of heartbreak for a person like me. A person who continuously mourns dreams. 

Brainssssssss

People are getting on my nerves. My uterus hurts, I have a tooth that hurts. Crystal my biological mother got Benga's dog Knox stolen. Thousands of dollars sunk into this dog and she claims the kids let her out and not back in when they went to play outside, but I want to know who the fuck lets kids 8 and under play outside by themselves in the middle of south Toledo??? Someone pulled up on Knox, opened the door, and of course, the dog who loves to go for car rides, jumps in.


First of all... she's fucking lucky her irresponsible almost 60 year old ass didn't have a child kidnapped because of her negligence. Seriously it could of been one of the kids. But no, it was our dog. And she had the nerve to cry. I hope whomever took her treats her better than she was there. Who leaves kids to attend to themselves? This is why her name is Crystal. Not mother, not mom, not mommy dearest. This person who left me to be molested and raped and a victim of incest my whole life never learned any fucking lesson at all. Fucking disgusting. That she would be left in charge of lives at all.
IT COULD OF BEEN ONE OF MY NIECES OR NEPHEWS. IT COULD OF BEEN A CHILD.

It is not okay. The complete absence of care is not alright at all. My Nana said she had 7 kids over. And clearly she shouldn't of if she could not provide adequate care. I manage kids. I teach 10-15 2 and 3 year olds every Sunday. I spend my free time volunteering with youth. Mentoring and monitoring them. Never has one escaped past me. Let alone I had 4 dogs at one point, never, not once was one misplaced or stolen. The worst that ever happened was benga leaving the back door open and the neighbors calling me while I was 45 minutes away, and I speed home to get them in 15 minutes, and Lenny is just waiting on the porch for me to get home.   Never could I imagine thinking these kids were old enough on their own to play outside. They range from 2-8?????

It makes my blood boil. How people can be so irresponsible and on top of that expect sympathy. It's gross.

Also this whole Isaac situation (fake Tom) is irking me too. I still ignore him the majority of the time. He still thinks he loves me. When he says it I say thank you?? What am I supposed to say? Hey I now you're still catfishing another woman as Tom. Also 4 other men as 2 different porn stars and frankly I can't believe anything that you say. Like at all. And he asked me yesterday what I was doing and I told him I was writing in my blog. He to the point of arguing with me demanding I tell him how he can read it too..

No. I dated fake cancer on and off for 3 years. Who censored me to the point I didn't want to write anymore. It literally has taken me years to want to write again. And to be completely honest in my writing. No fear. The last thing I want to do is listen to some random butthurt man on why I should filter myself.

I don't want to filter me. I don't want to worry about anyone's feelings before I type something. I want my brain to be free to say whatever it wants to. This is therapy to me. This is the daily jumble I like to get out, it's been helping me sleep better. The more I write the less I worry about. It reminds me of that retarded infomercial... Set it and forget it. That's how my brain feels about writing. I get it all out here and I don't have to spends 2 hours a week telling someone in an expensive chair what pisses me off and why, sugarcoating it in the first place to turn around and hear, You really don't give yourself enough credit. You got up today, that's an accomplishment.

No, it's the bare fucking minimum and sometimes I am not even strong enough to do that. I don't want smiley faced stickers and two thumbs up.

So this is my safe place. To say all the horrible abrasive shit no one actually wants to hear come out of me, on top of if they do labeling me as fucking insane. I'm not crazy (although I might be who knows) I just don't care for the stupidity of the world.

And this guy begging me for my link. Nope..... he asked if I was really telling him no... Yes I am

I don't care if strangers know what the hell goes on in my head. Sorry but no one who would actually randomly read this could say anything or try to guilt trip me into being emotionally dishonest.

But if real Tom reads this.... Don't you want to run away together? Aren't you tired of being funny for everyone? Don't you know you have more to offer?? Don't you want to talk about books? And go on actual adventures? In the woods where no one knows where you are? We could go fishing, and have bonfires, and I could sing to you, badly. And read poetry softy. I would take the soft blade of my fingers and gently stroke your chest. No cameras. No autographs. No pictures. I could show how much the rest of the world doesn't exist, at least until you ready for them again. And then I could hide and wait for you to need rest again. Loving me takes zero dollars. And I would bake you cookies. And we can paint together. I could be your best friend. I could exhaust you sexually in the middle of nowhere. I know you love what you do, But I could be what you love to do too. *This has been another fantasy brought to you by Melissa. *Also on the very slim chance you do ever read this, I do know these things are seemingly impossible, and I blame Isaac the Nigerian for putting these ideas in my head. I pictured them with you so many times thinking I was talking to you morning, noon, and night, that it's hard to think of other good things now. I maybe had a crush on you when I was 14, but I did forget about you for so long. And I wonder now why the universe put all this in my path. *And Also Also.... One of your eyes opens more than the other and I don't know why but when I see a picture of you now, that is my favorite thing. And the more I think about these things the more and more angry I get with the Nigerian.

Here are the convos of him trying to talk him into letting him read my blog.

The way, The Truth

God wrecked me this morning. Like completely. I was on my way into church, and I was thinking about my story. Specifically when God really started to change my life. When I was staring down the barrel of a 22 thinking I was about to die. How that could have been the end of my story right there. That could of been the end of me. Head blown off in front of my family right down the ally.

But that wasn't the end. That was my beginning. That was where all the pieces of my brokenness started to come together to form a good human being.  I was a mess before that. Only ever caring about myself, having fun, and getting whatever I wanted.

I knew God my whole life. I grew up in the church. I saw first hand how to live as a sinner and still smile in church on Sundays. But I also learned that he would leave the 99. And I had a bad habit of going astray. No matter how in love with God I was, I never accepted he loved me back.

And in the moment I didn't get shot, that was my defining moment. Today is different and yet so much not. I struggle everyday. With any kind of sobriety. If it numbs you to the outside world, odds are I liked it a little too much. A little more than a little too much. Booze. Drugs. Men.

And I went into church and we were discussing the woman at the well. And how Jesus was like hey, that's right, I know all your business. And how she ran door to door telling people how he knew everything about her. And how it lead to a two day revival. How her story wasn't a pretty one but God used it. And how God needs us to stop pretending we have out shit together so someone else doesn't think Christianity is this perfect world where they don't fit in. But instead we need to tell the world exactly how broken we are. Because he uses the weak to be strong. And how our personal life stories can make what we love about God seem plausible. How we need to just admit we are hot messes and ready to love on some other hot messes. And that's the only way we make it.

And I was crying. I cried because on the way to church I was already focused on how God really did give me a do over. How he loved me enough to give me life in that moment of stupidity. And then reinforced it when I sat down in that seat and knew that it was okay I wasn't put together yet. It was those moments the world needed to know to understand that church needs to stop pretending we are a college you have to get accepted into. We are a hospital you go to be healed.

I have an amazing pastor. He doesn't get up in front of us every Sunday and pretend like he's got his shit together either. He's honest. He talks about how he struggles to read the bible. How he fights with his wife. And they need counseling, and he has a life coach. He's honest. And I think belonging to a church so set in stone their principles are truly dedicated to really being the church, that it is such a gift. Not a building, not a philosophy, but real, raw, human beings.

And they hold you accountable. I've gone to  a lot of churches I've loved before. But as me, going astray I would stop going, and not hear anything from them. I always knew that they weren't my home. Because when you stop going home... you best believe someone is coming to look for you. And I tried it here at Soma. And I got a text... Hey where have you been? What's going on? Can I just come visit you? And I knew when that happened Soma City was my home. They noticed I was gone. They came to find me. And it is such a blessing to know that you will be accounted for. You're not just another face, you mean something to them. And I don't have to be perfect, in fact, they prefer instead of that, that we are just human. And telling the truth about how hard that experience alone can be, can change other peoples lives.

So God wrecked me today. Even though I feel alone a lot. Even though I'm 33 and my life isn't close to being together. Even though I struggle with sobriety. Even though I feel like I'm going mad all the time, and I'm exhausted, and confused, and don't have answers to my prayers, and I question God everyday and I'm far from being good at being obedient. That all qualifies God to love me. I don't need to be fixed, I need to just be, and even more than that, understand that these seemingly horrific days are what makes my relationship with God all the more important. He doesn't need to fix me, he needs me to tell the world I can be loved and still not be fixed.

That's the way. That's the truth.

Like a drum my heart never stops beating

So besides the fact I have real life insomnia and the Nigerian woke me up twice today (the catfish not benga)..... fml I must of dozed off while watching bits of American Vandal. Because when I went to turn it off I noticed a message from Benga. Asking if I was up. I responded with a yes why.

There are so many issues with this scenario. Yes I text him the last two days in a row.  We spoke last week for the first time in months. In me speaking to him I text during normal daytime hours, kept conversation to a minimum and asked him questions on things he has first hand knowledge of. Which is why I text him. I just needed info. He very obviously was drunk. Asking are you up Niagara... which I assume is drunk for Are you up my nigga? And beings as I didn't see it right away, it took me over an hour t respond. I said yes why? No response, I am sure he's passed out now. So as I think about this and try to go back to bed, I am a little perturbed.

I gave you no reason to late night drunken text me. I'm not better. I'm not okay. You made me out to be a monster with my head covered in snakes. I was evil. I was so hated by you in all of your words you claimed I didn't know you, and I  was an awful human being. 6 fucking years of his hot and cold emotions. Never knowing what he wanted, always making me to be the bad guy. 6 fucking years.

I'm not ready. I'm still pissed. Pissed at myself, pissed at him, pissed in general I could again leave so much of me with someone I don't now who I am. The only thing that is left is fragments of me that are scared to ever actually love another human again. The shell of an asshole. A deliberate mean human being. I kept my texts to what he knows about. They were legitimate. Real questions and he honestly was the only person I know that could answer them.

I cried for months. I wanted to die. I was actually going to kill myself over him. Swearing I never loved him, I was awful, h wanted to not deal with my bullshit anymore, he had a new girlfriend and he as going to put his efforts in  there. Like knife to my wrist. I just spent the last 3 years of my life living with this man who always had a pot on the stove but turned it on and off. On and off. and when he would leave it on, and I would boil over, would question why.

We shared a bed. Yes it was completely voluntary. I never had to. But he fit me perfectly and who in their right mind would turn that down? And yes he told me the whole time he wasn't ready to be with someone. Unless he was drunk and then he would spew how much he loved me to me and cry, and apologize, and I always thought a drunk mans words were a sober mans thoughts. So I stayed. And every time I would go back to my own room and sleep, he would tell me I can come back to his bed but don't get the wrong idea. And I always came back, and I always got the wrong idea. When he kissed me, everything in the world seemed to fit in it's place. And then we both got complacent.

Our bad habits wore on one another's nerves. Endless love turned into an endless fighting. It was exhausting. Something he thinks he endured alone. As if always picking up after him, and having to search for dirty dishes in his room was my favorite spare time activity. The difference was I just wanted to be held, and he just wanted to be with everyone who wasn't me. He never learned once in the 3 years of living together that all he had to do was hold me to get me to shut the fuck up. I didn't need more stuff. He was an excellent provider. He worked damn hard. I knew that. And never in my life have I ever had anyone take care of me the way he did. But while having things is nice, he was always the only thing I ever wanted. So where he was exhausted from working and giving, I was exhausted from never getting what I wanted.

I could of slept next to him forever, proudly, and happily. He was my friend for so long that him taking him away was the worst thing he could of ever done to me. So much I still don't know who I am anymore. I barely laugh. I fill my time with this instead of people. I live out imaginary relationships in my head that I pretend are okay, not because I'm crazy but because at least daydreaming takes my hurt away for fractions at a time. I'm trying not to cry thinking about it right now.

So I text him back before I started writing this and told him I'm not ready. Not for drunken texts. Not to be friends. Not for late night conversation. Fuck he wanted me to go away. He doesn't remember the good times. The shit that haunts me he has zero fucking recollection of and I'm supposed to keep loving as if my love, my heart, was worth nothing more than a grain of salt?? I love big. With all of me. I don't actually know another way. Who wants to be kinda loved? I want the whole fucking cake, pie, dinner, dessert, coffee after all of that... I'm not even close to being ready.

At the end of it, after he decided he was hurt, when I was raped, I begged him to come over, sobbing, just so he would sit next to me so I felt safe. He came over and pretended to be an ass. He is one, but more so. Telling me the person I think I know is gone, I don't want him, he's just an asshole now, he's only going to take from women.

And I know him. I know him better than I know myself. I know how he acts when he is mad, or hungry, how quickly he gets irritated when he's sleepy. I know every crease in his face while he eats. I studied him for years trying to perfect loving him. The things he was saying were definitely words coming out of his mouth but I never heard them before. Peoples vocabularies are always changing, their souls do not. That doesn't mean good people cannot do bad things, but it does mean if you are inherently good, you always will be.  Benga is good. Not just a good man, but a good human.

I know because I loved him for so long. And I knew in that moment where he was saying these ridiculous things, he wanted to be a bad person to make it easy for me to go away. I too wish it were that easy. It's not. But he started talking about when your demons come calling. And he don't have time for feelings anymore.

As I laid there sobbing, full panic attack ugly cry begging him to stop, I explained, that is not what it looks like when demons come calling.  When your demons are demanding payment, you will look like me. Hysterical, not wanting to live, and emotional wreck. You will have no control.

My Nana wanted me to check myself into a hospital I was so bad. I was so alone. Where were my friends I had been there for endlessly? The people I called my family who I would drop anything for? No one was there. Everyone I had ever loved besides my kids and my Nana were gone. If I die are these the people who will be at my funeral? The ones that didn't dare love me back the same?

Maybe why it's why I am so okay with being alone now. I had to realize I always had been.

I miss him. Every minute of everyday. I would give my life for his still without a doubt, or a second thought about it. He will never do anything wrong in my eyes, even when he does. He has the biggest heart of any man I have ever met. I would of been a fool not to love him. I suppose I was a fool either way. But I'm not ready. I can't be his friend, I can't text, I can't do drunken phone calls. It's only been two months. Everything he said to me is burnt into my flesh. Things he can never take back. And no matter what I will always love him, I will not keep standing inside of the flames and continue to get burnt.

The difference between him and I is simple. I remember all of the good and most of the bad. Every smile, every time he held me through a nightmare. I remember every kiss and every cuddle. I remember every single thing he ever did for me, every I love you and I'm sorry. He was priceless to me.  He, on the other hand, remembers every fight. Everything he ever bought. He amounts our relationship to a dollar amount. Money he spent over a duration of our life together. I was a cost he figured. It wasn't memories he was investing in, it was a dollar amount to be thrown in my face later. I was another cost. Our life was. And my heart was never for sale.

Inspirational quotes and shit

My friend just text me and told me I was an inspirational person to her. I hope the inspiration is to be nothing like me.

My daughter came into the kitchen a little bit ago and asked me what I was looking for. I said my mind, I hadn't seen it since 2005 before I had children. She replied "that's harsh"

She got me good one day. She wanted me to make her food and I said, What do I look like Betty Crocker? She said, No mom, you look like little debbie. She got me. It's hard watching your brains develop and get better than you. And she did it so fast too... it's a damn shame.

I'm dying right now though. Season 2 of American Vandal. Season one was semi genius anyways #whodrewthedicks now... #theturdburgler This is America now. I can dig it.


And this is my life, blogging, drinking wine. Surviving off pita and hummus.

Also because I was left rather confused as to what this guy wanted after our date, I took the direct approach and just asked. Asked what he was looking for, whether it was romantic or just friends. He thankfully he answered honestly, and said he didn't know. I just explained that I wasn' sure, he payed with his bdsm toys wit me, but didn't try to bust a move on e. And he did seem really into his phone, and talking about his relationships with other women.

He apologized an explained he is on the phone that much because of work, and he knows I had recently been through some BS and was okay with taking things slow.

I can respect a man trying to respect me. Is it wrong if I tell him I just want him to wear me like the crown I am. Romantic right? Like I am not trying to marry you...

The sex addict in me is starting to take over. In a 3 year sober period I have found I may have even less of a reason to respect men than I did before. So much so in fact, that, I wonder if I will even be okay. If there is even any human in me anymore. I wonder if I can get away with going on a fucking spree and still be okay with me in the morning.

Lord help me. Or.... Lord help all of them. The addict in me wants to relapse.

Tis but a scratch

I hadn't heard from the date guy in about a week. I more than assumed that he wasn't interested. He's incredibly hot. Not that in the realm of things I think about people that is at the top of my list. But he's edgy hot. Gauged septum. dreadlocks. Likes to wear pink. The out of the everyday norm are things I enjoy. Punk rock genius? Definitely what I would be into. Kinda the same boat I'm in. And while I had fun on our date, I mean we did hang out for something like 7 hours. Which is a accomplishment itself if you ask me, I just assumed when I had only heard two sentences from him since, he wasn't interested. Which is fine by me, I most certainly knew a long time ago I wasn't everyone's cup of tea.

But I woke up this morning with a message from him saying he had been locked out of something on his phone and wasn't able to shoot me a message, but he was really interested in me, if he didn't scare me away, he had a lot of fun together and wants to hang out again soon.

I'm down... I'm still a little thrown off that I actually know who his booty call is. Also that he claims he didn't know that when women ask to bathe at his house, or take naps in his bed, they were in fact trying to sleep with him. I am like a super monogamous person. I can deal with open relationships, I have before, as long as both parties understand the rules of engagement, no harm no foul. Neal (fake cancer) never played by the rules. He actually just thought what was good for the goose, was only good for the goose. He couldn't handle that I could separate my emotions in the same way he did. And one time, on one of our infamous breaks,  started fucking this guy that I had introduced him to. He was my friend first. And we both happened to be single at the same time and found one another on a dating app. We had disgustingly filthy sex for months. I'm talking so dirty I didn't want to look at myself in the mirror afterwards.

I do miss Vegas sometimes. He was great in bed. And he was down asf. Like he understood the rules. We tried group sex with other people. Some of my funniest sex memories are with him...

But anyways, at one point Fake cancer and I had made up. We had gotten into a fight and I screamed at him I fucked Vegas. Where I thought he would hate me, he invited me over. We talked about it, and when I said it had went on for months, I still remember the question that came out of his mouth...

You fucked Vegas? or you were fucking Vegas, because fucked implies it happened only once.

I have been fucking Vegas. I didn't go into details, but he was happy I had just been honest. Fast forward to a month later.. I get a new cell phone, throw the old one in a drawer at home... Fake cancer comes to stay the night, steals said cell phone... charges it, and goes through every intimate detail of not only my sexual escapades with Vegas, but everyone I had been seeing and talking to, all the things I had said about him, and then butthurt texts me saying someone forwarded all this information to him. And the best part, even if that had been true, he acted like me having group sex while we were on a break was any of his fucking business. Mind you he cheated on me and wasn't honest for three fucking years????

I eventually found my cell phone at his house. Of course he still denied he had taken it... Like I was stupid enough to believe him. Fucking retard. But where do some people get off? I never pretended to be innocent. I just understood the rules of the game we were playing. It was a don't ask don't tell policy. Not to mention, I was forthcoming about our mutual acquaintance without going into details.

But this is exactly the problem. Men don't understand that while we have hearts, we do know how to . turn them off. We do know how to play by their rules. They don't like us being emotionally available, and being okay with any scenario. They hate they think they are smarter and yet we are fully capable of doing the same things as them.

To me sex is sex. Love is love. And you can love to have sex, and you can make love... But we are able to distinguish the difference sincerely about the options.

But the physics major.... Hot, into the same kind of things as me. I love being able to have conversations with a person who can comprehend how my brain works. It is so few and so far between. I nearly forgot what I was talking about.... I've waited since fake cancer to be with anyone. Very few even peak my interest in the first place. But I definitely don't want to start something and end up jealous, or non committed at this point. He seems to kinda run through women. He doesn't much like taking his time. And told me openly his last few ex's couldn't handle his schedule.

I'm a needy person. I am aware about this myself. I'm not afraid to tell men if you have to question if you can handle me or not, odds are you cannot, do not try, we will both end up hurt.

But this guy can comprehend my brain. He likes to read books. Even when we were on our date he kept discussing us in a future tense. Like we can go here, and we can invite friends to do blah blah blah.... I was a little thrown off by that actually. And I'm still daydreaming about a fake scenario that likely will never happen with a man who barely knows I exist.

How did my love life end up so complicated when I don't even have one?

When will my brain give me a break?

Why can't the real Tom just be in love with me? And then say fuck being on the road all the time, that he read everyone of my messages with fake Tom and he does want to hide in the woods and go canoeing and have me read books to him? That he wants me to rub him down after a long day? He wants me to make him pancakes and bacon for breakfast? And listen to vinyl together.

Oh and as far as we know, the fake Tom's name is actually Isaac. He's 25.  And he still thinks he's in love with me. But I'm more mad now that I daydream about the real thing because of the ideas he planted in my head.

And frankly I just need to get laid. FML

Up in arms again... Armageddon

Bar, in the corner, by myself. I'm glad I tip well, they know to leave me alone. I hate people... I even hate listening to them talk. But I can't wear my headphones because my stupid aux chord broke inside my fucking phone. I'm pretty sure I still give off a I'm not Interested vibe.

I've talked to Benga two days in a row. Always interesting. I think I'm sleeping on the beach tonight. I don't know why sleeping in the sand and dirt are the only times I feel at home. I'm not even sure why I leave my house sometimes.

I wonder if the land of the unknown thinks about me in the same way I think about him. Like our auras have somehow intertwined and he finds himself daydreaming of me. While I doubt it, he still causes a stirring in my soul. A what if? I catch myself telling myself that it's a dream too big to dream. I believe in Invisable things, and contemplating in that realm,  nothing is impossible. I wonder if he's tired of living so big. Exhausted from living a dream, fantasizing about how simple things could be. I wonder if he catches himself wondering about me. Reading this, my thoughts and interpretations of his simple sentences, if I read him as easily as a book. And then he finds his soul stirring on the what if simple magic. What if I did sing loudly to him just driving down the road? What if I just did wake up and make him breakfast, and wait for him to come home from a late night at work, just to rub every stress out of him gently until he falls asleep snoring. I wonder if he imagines smoking cigars, drinking scotch, listening to vinyl until we passionately make love on the piano, or couch, or kitchen island.

I've never imagined myself in a life such as his, but I tend to get lost not in the glamor of what he embodies, but him, himself, who he is, what he actually carries in himself.

Love has never been my friend, but after spending months pretending and including myself in his life, I don't mind my daydreams getting the best out of me.

Isn't he tired? I could give him rest. I could give him more than what money could buy. I could love him. Even though he plays it safe. I could be the danger he craves. I could love him, not his things, but actually him... And we could lay, intertwined,  against the heavens. I could be his chaos and his calm.

I could be his world, and he, he could be mine. In the moments of serenity I see us in, I ponder, can he taste it too? How do I talk to God and ask him to make such ass thing happen? To part everything we both have ever known and leave us there for one another? We could be happy. I could erase every wrinkle and fill them with laughter. Anything else seems dulling now. That my imagination doesn't want to carry this mundane, and only wishes to whisper to his soul.

Is God big enough? I have always believed he was, but I never dreamt a love, or a life like this, and every other sense ever, has failed me.

So now I suppose, I leave it to the heavens. And hope he reads and wishes like me.