dear Me,

another day of the rise&fall, and how do you feel? i am not a lover of narrative, but let me clear in my mind:

I woke up three times last night. it's been a common occurence recently, but never the same time. you'd think there are only so many times one person can wake up in a night but nothing feels the same; yesterday's two is todays three.

the waking is fine (I have always been clear about My love of the pursuit of living; I was never tired of it, and every moment was always a gift.) I am tired of the very minute window of realisation that the day is real. do you understand? waking is parasympathetic & wonderful. it happens to Me. the sun, the birds, the music. it all happens to everyone, and it always will. even the deep stretching, the yawning, will happen before I am truly awake.

& today, like clockwork, there was the window. My mam always told Me that I was naturally a depressive like her, and that I had all her worst sides. I disagree with the latter, but to think she feels like this too makes me want to sit between her legs on the sofa like I used to when I was young, and tell her how much I love her. I can't though, and My mind knows that.

it's always love, see? I feel like I just have too much of it. I feel slightly overfilled and quite precariously placed. I realise what that means to say, and I hope my family and friends feel the love I feel for them, but it does not feel enough. That is something to say.

romanticism is reason I will spill. I have written a lot of poetry about the girl I fell in love with this year, she used to read them, and I really felt she was it. I think she understood Me. That is to say she does not read them anymore. it's hard to feel anything after the riveting certainty I felt with her.

it's always love. one day I will learn to love Myself, or find love, or maybe neither or maybe both. today, though, I am alone and the day is here.

write soon.