I'm sitting at my window.. watching the snow come down, at 02:30.. the deep night, me, and the glass. Wally occasionally looks up, and wonders why I'm not resting with him on my beanbag.. I've recently taken to sleeping with the shades open, in my front room.. I like waking to the sun.. and

Some kinds of music are really bad to play late at night... They easily put me in a sorrowful or reflective mood, and those really are things that arn't so good for when noone is around and the sun is down. It's hard to remember that I've given up on some things when parts of me keep being ambivalent on if they wish to integrate into the whole or not. Hard to paint a coherent story when the corpus colossum is severed.. and the nightmares.. or disturbing dreams.. they've been at me recently. I wish I could forget them, but they return, and sometimes touch my waking hours. An hour over a bathtub, an hour in the park, an hour in the tall, open place. I turn my head, stepping outside myself for a moment, and watch you walk by the long window. Is this the soft place? Was there ever such a place? The faint taste of lemon on upholstry.. tongue runs over plastic, rubbery, leathery furniture. Here, the rules are softer, judgement is harder, but suspended.

I summon your spectre, no, not a meaningless embrace... Keep me company this night.