for when i die, the universe will die with me.

Woke up feeling frisky, but just rolled into some pillows instead. Kept slipping back into dreams about dandelions and men I barely know. Walked around in a building I never walked through in college, down a hall that exited into a lake I never noticed. Tried to get as close as I could to that black water, and wondered about the animals that existed maybe. Felt the unsure sand. Lost my footing, and sank into the edge. Thought I heard some shouting, tried to float on my back. Found myself in bed again.

Wandered in an apartment I did not love. Wanted food I did not have. Left and ate and finished Hemingway. Felt nervous about gaining weight. Felt familiar, unbathed. Wondered when I started embracing warmth, hadn't I always enjoyed the cold? Sitting outside in a lawn chair now. Desperate to tell you the things that dog me:

Like the wanton desire to act on impulses, the longing to fulfill every whim but knowing disappointment instead. wanting wanting wanting wanting acceptance. Knowing a lifetime of rejection and limitations, yet feeling as if I've had known something else once.