Idle days, I’d still think of you. The fatuousness of how my mind clings to what’s left of my memory became a saving grace, makes me feel what’s warm from the cold. For a second I would think about what you’re up to, where you’re at, and how you see the world. The longing becomes a new normal, so natural that I can’t even feel the pain.
Maybe this is how it’s supposed to be, for you to live inside the packets of the immortal lively electricity zapping across the minute distances inside my mind. You’re here, even on idle days, even when I don’t even think about you at all.