Sleep tries to coerce me to dream. Convincing me that tomorrow will be yet another tenacious ordeal of monotonous meloncholy filled full with events I must drift among like flotsam in the tide. Moving, moment to moment with bare feet which stick with every step. Sleep pleads with me to realize it will be easier if I embrace her.

I toss in an unfamiliar place, in an authentic bed. Protective mansion walls encompass my thoughts, missing the mirrors that fool me into believing in a secret passageway into another realm, my old life.

Darkness attempts to be the catalyst to propel my body into the feathery utopia of tranquil rest. The darkness fails. I turn on the light and find solace in my pen. This Papermate™ Med point blue pen. I find reasurance in the manner the ink rolls onto the paper by my haphazard print. So I write.

I print each letter to erase the thoughts of her, of them. These women responsible for depriving me of companionship, of friendship and love of the comfortable notion that I really am not alone. The letters form the words to acquit me of the guilt and exonerate my faults.

I compare my anxiety alone here in this bed with the over anxious anticipation of embarking into new love. Waiting, wanting and yearning, the buzz I get when love is near is not discernible in my stomach and heart from the aches of barren lovesickness. My internal alarms cannot exclude either of the butterflies flittering through me in these moments. I can recognize the stalking stink of the impending doom. I feel it in the sticky step moments that stand me still and lightheaded...frozen. I am hesitant and dazzledin the girls presence too, but I want to step forward and beyond even if the ground is shaky.

When we meet, the euphoria and bliss are a miraculous delight and the fortuitous posibilities ahead are too much of a temptation not to try. I try, unable to fathom the depths of fate.

If I fail, I will know.

I think of the symbol of infinityand the sideways "8" on my door. Reality becons me back and implores my mind not to think about the unknown. My thoughts float to the heavens and plead with God for an explaination. I answer myself with yet more questions, paddling with one oar in my circular boat.

My eyelids betray my being. Growing heavy siding with the powerful hands of sleep. I remain here warring with the past, turning over and over the trivial thoughts that begin to merge with my dreams.

I feel the autumn leaves falling from the (non) ceiling landing gently around my body. One in particular, an Oak Leaf, brittle and withered, lands upon my chest and rocks with my breath and beat of my heart.

I ache, afraid of the inevitable Stygnian darkness which lurks in my future and in the shadows around the corner. This moment I hold out my hands and hope for the compassionate hand of friendship, to link fingers and channel the strength and bond beyond worlds. Warmth.

Turning over, I crush the dream leaves around me. I surrender to the inevitable, I accept it with a remorse and sorrow that the might I had to hold onto the past was not sufficient.

Tomorrow must be bringing me mystery and delight.

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