I hold onto memories as if the tightness of my mental grip will recreate times that have ceased to exist.
I consider alternate realities with a sincerity that shouldn't be exercised on such quixotic fallacies.
The heat is overwhelming.
Yearning for a past that in actuality was as broken and confused as this present reality.
Perhaps it's not a long gone treehouse that I long for, but merely that which I can never have.
This humidity is soaking.
Breathing in this temperature is all together suffocating and I can't quite find the direction for my mental wanderings.
As the sweat drips down from my brow I ponder the simplest of questions with the complexity of aerospace engineering.