edit: repost. refelt. remorse.

and happiness sounds like a foreign country, so far away.

i've always felt like i could collapse inside my head to become a dreamer; a dreamer of all things said, should, and shouldn't be. to be a stain of a memory of where you are and where i'm not. last night, i dreamt the dream where i stood barefooted on the highway past midnight, and the lights were all passing down through a cloud like bright drops of rain, weightless against gravity. the wind whispered a draft on my skin cold and uncaring, ambivalent, and i wanted to travel back inside my heart that is now filled with even less logic and even more inconsistencies that lie on the surfaces of my head. for me to feel the many islands, the uncomfortable deserts, the decapitated buildings, the crumbling artifacts. they are all there, waiting for me. wondering why i always leave when things begin to turn out wrong, wondering why i have never listened in the first place. the imperfections alone were enough to make me nostalgic, and i could return, where i could build a space for you and me, and i didn't have to walk alone inside my head with the ghosts all around me. i could sift through the archaeology of my broken heart and rebuild this place and have it to call home. and then maybe, i could fall in love all over again.