Every time we meet, it feels like acid and nerves together. Like the languid sunshine after a November rain gliding hurriedly over shoulders and hiding between fingers firmly clenched away. It feels like sitting by a sea with the wind in my hair and a song in the head. Like the smell of old stubborn love that chops you up into unreal mad pieces if you carelessly breathe it in. Like a million fireflies setting on fire a damp spring night.  Like some frayed-edged old poem that breaks through mirrors, pulling all inanity down down down to a bottomless lonely abyss.

It feels likes free-falling. back into nothing. over and over again.