I've eaten, both a liquid meal and that of various solids. I've consumed my own fill of prescribed spirits. I am content for now and so I retire to a bed shared with ghosts. They are always out of reach but that does not stop them from touching me as I sleep and experience what my subconscious cares to torture me with for for its part. The conscious portion of my mind apparently does not do the need for such turmoil justice, so it huants me so as I rest.
Im not sure the word rest quite qualifies. Moments of physical activity in lull, thought out but not to be accomplished in that time of closed eyes, not in any sense of permanency or reality anyway. I still wake reaching out for or trying to roll into or snuggle into women who are not there. Like ghosts. For each time I think youve been laid to rest, a new emotion brought upon by a new person, after it is lost; digs it all up again, with yet one more in attendance.
There is always hope so they say. If only this bed wasn't memory foam A years worth of impression is not done in by 2 years worth of emptiness, I still roll over and sink into the past, and it feels empty still even today.
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