there is no sense to make of this

he stands before me, two parts nostalgia, one part reality

the reality isn't pretty and is represented by three earrings in one ear. silver, gleaming, not a match for the rest of him, they stand out--which is exactly what he wants, I suppose, so that just when you think you've figured him out, he is not what you expected. but they are not surprising in a good way. they are just silly. and weird. and kinda obnoxious.

in a small bowl mix wet ingredients: tears, beers, sweat, and lake water. Mix well.

I am crying, I am drinking, I am hot, we are at the beach by my apartment and it is perfect, and it almost drowns the tears.

add sand to taste.

my bed is full of sand, I woke up with it gritting between my teeth, a fine layer has settled on my hardwood floors and my feet are smoother after a barefoot walk, just like my life is smoother with him back in it. [until it isn't.]

is it possible to change our receipe? that the things we were are not the same, that the lives we were constantly in motion against are gone, that it can just be him and me, is it possible to have what we could not? we sometimes got it right and it was good. but mostly we got it wrong.

forlorned by his departure, I wondered if it was really over. I never imagined it could begin again so easily and I would be so glad.

seduced by his smells, I find them trapped in my bedsheets and want more of him.