I don't know how long I fell.
For months or miles, it's hard to tell.

But amidst my tumbling I felt the eyes of more celestials
than the simple sun and moon.
Beings everlasting, burning brighter than mortal minds can imagine
immune to the troubles and struggles that subsume us.

I could have fell through entire worlds and not known
for though I felt gazes and my own unyielding, fetid motion
blackness was the only constant
and so in stygian abyss I lost myself, wanting only permanence.

The brain fog descends,
heavy thick sheets of air
dripping with condensation.

I trudge through
one step at a time,
each footstep a splat
on the cold concrete.

Everything takes a little too much effort
and by the time I'm finally home
even looking at a toothbrush
feels like lifting a mountain.

Remember
no matter
what happens

you're unique
amazing
wonderful

someone that
could never
be replaced

The day was a tidal wave of sounds
crowds rushing past without a space
for silence or even breath.
Now you soak in quiet.
A cool cloth over
a feverish
blighted day.
Darkness
​hushed.

I keep hearing it.
A soft whisper on the cold breeze
delivering news of a horde
of many feet stumbling blindly through white powder
beneath bowed backs and bleeding gums.

But the summers here are endless.
Chills are stunted before they ever reach the surface
let alone storms that bring down snow.
That's why I came here.
To escape that feeling of being frozen into my own bones
trapped below icy atmospheres
separated from warmth and sun.

I must be tired
or stressed.
Imagining things.
Because no such thing would ever exist
on a planet like this.
It couldn't.
There's no way to walk
across a galaxy.
​They could never follow me here.

A balancing act
between work, play, and progress.
​How do you do it?

Sometimes dreams drip down from my ceiling
pooling in rainbow-tinted puddles by the foot of my bed.

They burst with tiny bubbles,
each popping with a hushed whisper
a prayer or a plea.

I often wonder who the dreams belong to.
Whether they're ever missed,
or if they were thrown out willingly
and abandoned by those who used  to cherish them.

Sometimes I have to fight
to get the words fully formed and onto the paper.
Each scratch of my pen
a blow against the empty page
spreading black and blue.

The blankness will never be the same again.
But at least it'll have a story to tell!

There's always more to do.
Tasks tugging at the back of your mind,
chores left undone,
phantom to do lists
floating on the back of your eyelids.

We'll never have unlimited time in a day,
no matter how much coffee we drink.
The trick is
to find what's most important
and parse out your time accordingly.

I'm certainly not an expert on this.
Trust me, I wish I was.
So I can only give you the vague advice that I've been given
and hope that it might connect with you somehow.

For now,
I have an appointment to keep.
My bed and blankets are far too fickle
and if I disappoint them by arriving too late
there's no telling what they might do in retaliation.

Invisible strings
pull you closer together
​while I watch and wait.