We talked about it, we really did
as we stayed up, high,
letting the absence of sleep dissolve like tiny crystals within the stomachs of the well rested
we spoke of the challenge of opening up,
and collecting, stitching,
and moving on.
And within these walls I am at ease.
More familiar than my own room.
But then...then the foreignness grabbed at me and whispered me into comfort--
a strange comfort.
Definitely not at ease
But at least we talked about it and I felt a lot better.
I also felt well rested.
A little too well rested as the absence of adventure could not dissolve within the stomachs of the weary.
Definitely not like tiny crystals, anyways.
Frequently returning to the location;
never returning to the feeling.
Now, I'm not all too sure what happened.
Just that we were high,
and we talked about it.