And now we are a week closer to everything becoming nothing. Normal lifestyle: having coffee with girls at over-priced coffee joints, roaming around aimlessly only to plonk by the river, being Oprah, dying on Pau's bed, noodles and Jack D. Nomad-esque lifestyle: reading to each other, random decision to make grilled fish and butter rice and the long awaited trip. And yet at the end of each awesome day, a deep sense of dissatisfaction and emptiness follows me to sleep. Emotions running on overdrive and without reason. Honestly, I myself am at a loss for exactly why I react so erratically. And since it couldn't be the artificial come down, I am excuse-less. Perhaps I really am going crazy. Or I just have way too much on my mind. Or everything is exploding. Or just that, I feel lost. And yet you are, too often, no where to be found. Inside my mind, at least. Lost. It's the same cycle, really. In, out, yes, no? Where did the pining and yearning go? Maybe I am just too fucking free. No where to be found.
There's an awful lot of breathing room,
But I can hardly move
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