I miss watching moths flutter by a light as if to immolate themselves. I haven't seen any here yet. I left them all back at home with everything else, only everything else is going too.
I like to run. There's a pressure in my head and building a pressure in my chest makes it go away. I can't keep it up for long enough though. Last night. The sky reminded me of pastels, only not as bright as the chalk pastels sold to children are. A dull purple-blue blur, lacking sun or moon or stars. It looked so lovely with its fringe of pine tree silhouettes all around. I had gone all the way downhill, to the turning point just past where the ocean meets the old highway. I made it halfway back uphill, too, before giving up. I couldn't move my left ankle any more.
I would love to walk down to the water and swim as far out as I can and then a little farther one day. A girl once asked me if I was swimming, floating, or drowning. I think she drowned. I think I wouldn't mind joining her.
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