These cloaks of nostalgia, shimmer and bluster through some silent window, drop like beads of vapour, the fabric resting on my shoulders and then the beads of vapour continue to trickle through my bellbutton and ensnare my heart, cradling it there in this bitter sweet eternity – my mind in the present perfunctory moment to type this sentence but my limbic system rolls back into it self causing this sweet tingle in my solar plexus, cascading up through my arms into my fingers and into this machine.

I hope I can relay it to you! You know nostalgia, of course you do, where the mind’s eye casts itself back into the past and walks those stones again and smells the flowers of those days in the Summer of ’09 – we call them Halcyon days, the final days of my early twenties, first discovering real sex and real intimacy and looking at the world with a delicate naivety. I hark for that feeling of awe. I will suppress my reason and intellect and all of that shit in order to perceive each leaf with fresh, child-like intensity. That must be our mission – to suppress intellect and apprehension and to perceive and sense this realm much in the way a child does, with sweet inquisitiveness and mild disbelief, gentle wonder and soft expectation.

Give us a tissue there, wudje?!

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