cayley

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.

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