no vessels or chambers or numbers or figures. just a burden and some blood.
how do i leave them to drown in their own fecal matter and plastic submarines? how do i simply dust off the red dirt from my hands and wash the white paint from my face and return home? how am i supposed to accept the welcoming committee of landscaped frontyards that are never played in and fluorescent business signs? why is there western wealth but third-world faith? if there were no either/or equations in life, things would be so much simpler.
i think i'll just assume the fetal and mourn for a few more days. i want the land of sweat and dirt roads. i want the country of soft arms and fanta and pot-holed roads. hell, i'll even take the cushiony toilet seats for one last resounding yeah budday.
i miss everything.
when you lose something that you can't replace
when you love someone but it goes to waste