So here I am, in a hotel bathroom somewhere outside Flagstaff.
It's been four months, give or take. I suppose the only thing that still bugs me is the fact that you're still in my head; the only thing that still bugs me is the fact that you are both the subject of and the driving force behind this journal entry.
(I have not journaled regularly in ages.)
And I suppose the reason you continue to persist as the object of my thoughts is because you were the one thing that made sense; because the very thing that made sense turned the world on its head-- without any reason to precede it or any consequence to come after-- and then left.
You disappeared.
You took a part of me with you.
You abused my trust.
I miss having faith in humanity as much as I miss the simultaneous drop in both heart rate and blood pressure upon feeling your embrace for the first time in a week.
You ran because I no longer made your heart beat faster; you miss the high. I miss the stability. You're a junkie; I'm seeking recovery-- I miss home.
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