Inside and out

And I fall in this black hole again. Missing, longing, wanting to be somebody else, somewhere else (with you dear). I feel I have to make all these things you should bring home and just show, talk about, tell everyone about. That it was fucking amazing here, that I miss it so much, that I want to go back, that I had amazing sex, found a great lover, passed out and made theory and all that shit. That I just had a fucking awesome time, better than they had back home. Though the truth is probably the opposite, that they have better lives, they're more beautiful, that they have the most exciting lives, that mine is nothing compared to theirs...

I always return to you. In mind, in body, in existence, past, future. Was this all that was? Did you love me in that way? Did I return that love? You did feel loved, didn't you? And the country just reminds me of you, I have to force myself to forget. I have no other way to walk, this is it, this is my life. Will I ever encounter, experience love like ours again? Or will I always compare everything to you, to the way you were, the brilliance you was. Fuck fuck fuck. I screwed everything up didn't I?