The Coldest Parts

Autumn seems to bring out the coldest part of all of us. I find myself wishing more and more of the company of another. Waking dreams plague my mind, bringing with them vivid illusions of endearment. I lie awake, hardly able to distinguish between the tangible and the fantastic; my nerves tingle as I feel the imaginary stroke of fingertips across my ribs. I hear the rhythmic whispers of a rising and collapsing chest, whispering affection into the chilled air.

There are dreams of warm drinks in warmer lodges. A hearth blazes with passion in a corner. This dream turns to cinders like a cigarette burn through paper and I am walking down leaf-bordered sidewalks, your fingers brushing my own. Someone presses fast-forward and the dream whizzes away. The scent of cider wafts into existence and there are dishes in the sink. You had made some sort of pumpkin spice delicacies. The oven glows in stark contrast to the TV across the room. A look. A smile. A dream.

But none of it is real.

A synapse in the brain fires, cutting short hallucinations. Reality takes control again. Crippling feelings of loneliness wash over what was passion only moments before.

 I’m lying in a desert wasteland, shambling for an oasis.

This queen-sized mattress suddenly feels much too large for its sole resident. 

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Recommended Listening: 9 Crimes - Damien Rice, Draw Your Swords - Angus and Julia Stone, Sleepwalkin' - Modest Mouse