[I would like to be you, just for a few habit-forming years]

The ocean held nothing but sand and fog too thick to see or even touch the water. Pea soup fog... you know. I'm not sure what I expect these days. I guess it's just that I have expectations. Little shiny fingers of hope waving me towards the coast, a friends house, a party, a coffee shop- they crumple up as soon as I arrive. White knuckles from a tauntingly taut grip. Whatever, we'll move to whatever is next and place all our redemption into that. It makes sense... at this point.

Tyler is all fever dreams and clammy skin. No barnacles though, unfortunately. I have been lying next to him trying not to give him little neck rubs, attempting not to encourage all the toxins in his body to release and seep next into me. I am anticipating it nonetheless, encouragement or not, these days my immunity to anything is pathetic. Besides, I welcome the bed ridden inevitability of it all. Sweat soaked sheets with ginger ale and cough syrup- it all sounds soo romantic, doesn't it? Of course it does. of course it does.