sometimes i miss when life were simpler than it is now, absent of the obsession about schedules and peoples and events and the oceans of tasks we all have yet to complete.

i miss when the only thing i was really obligated to do was to show up to a job that i loved. i’d get an iced coffee on the way, every day, and the baristas knew my name and my order. an old fashioned donut, glazed, accompanied the plastic cup in a brown paper bag.

i approached the drive-through window in my too-small car with the top down. june, july, and august.

everything i did i did out of purpose or passion. i spent time only with those i really loved—nobody else mattered. you and i, cruising over lakes under the sun, mist settling on our eyelashes. you and i, atop decks at sunset, singing the songs we both love, songs we love together. love felt more collective, more collaborative then, more shared. no conditions, no qualifications, only you and i together, you and i together together.

and then there was you. you and i on loose gravel at dusk, you and i holding one another atop grassy hills, our hearts settled in between the mountains. and the mountains was all there was.

you, me, the bridgers, and the love that connected it all. i miss sharing my life with you. i miss the comfort of knowing i had you to come home to, the dependability, the ease. the simplicity.

i yearn for that simplicity again, now. you feel like a dream, you felt like a dream, and i remember stopping myself from falling all the way into it. you wake up from dreams, after all, and when you do you’re left with nothing more than disappointment.

at least that’s been true for me, this year.

now, i’ve woken up from our dream. which is funny, because really, i feel more asleep now than i ever did with you.

drifting through life, no, that’s not what i want. i want to cherish it like i cherished you. i want to be so deeply aware that my time is finite, that the end is always near, relatively speaking.

i knew the end would arrive with you. and it did, and i prepared myself for it back in june.

in car crashes, they say you’re not supposed to tense your muscles or brace for impact—you’ll get more injured if you do.

bracing for pain makes pain worse.

bracing for pain makes pain worse.

but i can’t let myself. i can’t let myself dream completely, i can’t fall for you, for us, for our life together this june like i did last june. i can’t because i know what i wan’t, i know what i’ve dreamed of and—

who am i kidding. take me back to (our) kitchenless farmhouse at dusk, push me off the cliff, let me fall, force me to,

and then maybe i’ll never have to wake up.