There is no space.

I feel sometimes that I’ve been sleeping for a long time, living and doing my life and things under some spell. Not magical, merely a blanket of mist that makes me severely lazy, uninterested, making choices out of mere inertia. Suddenly every two months to a year, I wake up and realize how mistaken and lost I’ve been. I begin undoing my mistakes, exploring again, forgetting how awful I’ve allowed myself to be. I seek out people I know I’ve always wanted with me, thinking what driving force must be behind all these fornications under consent of the king. What king he must be, to give me two lives inside the same one. There is no place I can think to look that has given me an explanation for such sadness; because really, feeling like two people at a time, while being only one all the time, all sane, clear, clean and right, is a sad thing. There is no space, I’m drowning in a bowl of cereal with no milk. I feel sometimes like I’ve been numb for a long time and when I wake up, my life is a remix of the things I’ve chosen to say.