Flap flap, wings!

Repent the long, dark dark Smolder.

What I wake up feeling is some sort of Decline. I can't put my finger on it. None of my fingers.

Some sort of memory of some sort of sparkling, spark, almostfire, close close to igniting, Ignite like Love and Content, like Great Bright Heaven, like a Canopy of Fireflies, like Ten Million Brilliant Dreams, like Free & Wide Wide Open.

Some sort of feeling of a bus that I have missed.

I have had the feeling, now and for the last few years, that I am in a neverending mid-life crisis. Even if I am only twentysomething.

When I go to sleep at night, there is only "Is this all? Isn't there anything else?".

Having once thrived on imagination. Having once been stimulated in the pageants of overthought. Having once had too much time to think.

Having braved the killing fields, having fought boredom with nihilism. Nihilism, the last remaining great Defense Mechanism. Fail-less and nonFaulty.

Having thought every interesting scenario to its death. Having exhausted the Earth's supplies of daydreams and rituals. Having seen oceans, forests, mountains, fjords and deserts. Having seen stars and darkness, having loved and hated and been indifferent-to. Having known the rich and the poor and the kind and selfish and the loud and the silent. Having offered-up everything that I owe. Having paid. Having kept the change.

I'm sorry to write about Downers. Nobody is all about downers, anymore. No signs of weakness. Pride is back in a big way, these days.

I forgot what mine even used to look like.

But I know, I know how they say. The less the overthink, the lighter the heart. I'm getting there. Not thinking, just coasting. I will get there.

I've even got it narrowed. To just before bedtime. Bedtime in hotels that are not at home. Home that is not too much farther from Absence. Nightmares about missing busses.

My subversive Pride. Ha! Now that it is only interested in exhibitioning, I am free to strategize my shame and humility.

I have been living in a hotel in a city called Chesapeake. The name is prettier than the place. And so maybe tomorrow, I will go home. If I will consider it a home.

...and through the sky go the Grays and the Storms.

My my, hey hey.