It's the afternoon I spent months ago, a year ago even, in a house where the early morning light slid across the ancient wooden floor. I burn the same incense on the same afternoon, sliding into oblivion in my cozy little bed, for I no longer wish to be conscious. I do the same activity to reach the same result, knowing I only want to pass the time. A few things are different in this place, for a year ago I couldn't watch the sun slide below the mountains any night of the week, or hear my mother move around downstairs in the kitchen. I used to enjoy my solitude, where the melancholy could sink in, and where I could let it. I miss my old house where I could be alone. I miss the quiet uncertainty of my life there, where my life was entirely up to me and I allowed my time to go to waste.
I still love this time of year, it's so completely me that I should walk out and sink into the fallen leaves and never return. I wish I could disappear so easily.
And tonight, while I lay in bed, listening to the clock ticking and wishing I could sleep, I will hope for the rest of this month to pass as quickly as possible. It feels like my life is on hold now. I'm so far, in time and in space, from all I hold dear. Everything that I fear will go away in just a matter of time, whether I want it to or not.
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