Nostalgia creeps in the pores. It swirls in the night air, flushes the cheeks. I walk around and think only of being curled in a chair reading Dickens on a cold day. I think of the fall in Illinois where I cried out for a love that only seems like a murmur now.
Idaho. Fucking Idaho. The clear rivers and gentle mountains. The air filled with smoke, or clear as such a night as this, with just a hint of moisture. No rain in months, and I am five hours from rainy Seattle. From the girl who ripped my heart out, and rejected me in such a way that I lost my composure and respect for my mind and spirit. Never again, I said.
I hear things such as kindred spirit, great friend, funny man, and one who would hear secrets, but it does not seem as genuine as a late night with a bud who drinks a beer and laughs about the day. Law school is rough, I hear, but more it is a journey of the mind, I say. It becomes the coalescence of the man I am. So those late nights will not vex me so when I finally accept the man I am.
Yet, I would give anything to feel the hug, the glow of the fire, the white and sunny days of Colorado, or the sweet smell of a lover's hair as I connect these days together.