last nights writing...

On this warm spring night I sit at home with the ghost of what the night might've been floating around me. Desires that smell like musk and patchouli drift by.

Unable to shed the heat and light and noise of the day, I sit alone in a cool house. Trying to gather my thoughts. Trying not to breathe in the sweet scent of possibilities hanging expectantly around me. Perhaps I should push through. Push myself harder. Push back the growing feeling of nausea and dizziness.

It seems the whole world is out on the streets and in the cafes and clubs tonight. Buoyed by the unexpected warmth of the day. Like cicadas that come out of the ground during the first warm night, leaving little holes in the soil for us to find in the morning. Drunken chirrups are sounding up and down our street. Normally quiet all winter long but for the dogs barking, it's now full of shrieking laughter, yelling over music, heels clacking on the road, smashing glass. The air smells like magic. It seems like summer has begun.

But I'll stay here instead. Inside. Trying to keep my breathing steady.