because faries still die

This mightn't mean a thing,
but oh it does.

I have, as i find myself doing during them out-of-body experiences, wandered back onto old blog posts that ring with the clinking of empty wine glasses and the tinkle of forced laughter still laced with a tinge of "i am doing fine without you".

I have found my legs aching with the after-effects of running.
Running away from you, running past the point of hurt. More often than not, running away from myself.
I never did manage to get far enough away.

Pillow's been wet, either with the piss the sandman left behind or because crying in your sleep isn't as odd it sounds.

Faces blur and colors fade out.
Lights go out, in houses where people live, believing they are happy,
and in houses where people live, not knowing how lucky they are.