a door. a window. a way.

Sometimes I feel like a beggar for love. So much cajoling down on my knees only to realize, well, hmm, I am in this position because I made a conscious choice. I miss home. The uncertain status of the wanderer.

I am getting older...which is odd to realize at points. Like, I don't contemplate my age all too often, and in the grand scheme of things, I recognize I have quite a ways to go (barring any unforeseen tragedy...knock on wood.) I suppose I am a grown up doing grown up things, but this evening I longed for a night of poor life choices involving champagne. Shit is good, n'est-ce pas? Patience.

I just wish to be hazy for a little bit. A far awayness to play companion to being far away.

Would you dance with your eyes closed?