It's hot, and I miss you. It's a potent combination that reverts me to a state of adolescence. I'm juvenile. I want to throw the blanket from my bed and pound my fists on the mattress as I call for you. Yell your name, entitled to you. As if you'll come running at the sound of it, like an adult with parental obligations. But you're not, and you won't. Fuel to the fire burning 'It's not fair' into the walls of my mind. Agitation, turbulence, unrest as I lay here waiting for sleep to save me.
Chicago-born citizen of the globe, rich in the things that really matter. Let's get weird.