late night, long lost; maybe a letter

i don't know what i want to say about this.

only that i could not sleep because i had this particular line from a particular song stuck in my head, and then i started to think about you.

anything i know of you is blurred, vague, obscured by my life during the time in which i knew you - lost years, of which i have few memories. a time of constant, blinding headaches and hallucinations, and nightmares from which i sometimes feared i wouldn't awake. a time that i remember as 'how bad it can get.'

do you remember once that i told you i had silver eyes, sometimes? it was a hallucination of sorts.

still yet, you.

i don't know how you fit into those memories, as you are something i recall as shining. strange. and i don't know what it is about recalling you that makes me want to write ridiculously, like a 'birthday; love' card from the darker side of hallmark. you know, the way i wrote when i was fifteen and the whole world was an unlit tunnel, the part of the movie with the clowns and the funhouse mirrors and the crazy laughing.

and i wish i remembered more, but i don't. only that it was so fucking long ago (am i really old enough for it to have been, what, six years?) and i thought i knew everything. obviously, i didn't. at the very least, i remember screwing up pretty bad.

sometimes, i think it would be nice to have you around still. even if only to keep me from over-romanticizing, to remind me about what really happened and why. my memory is slippery, tricky. precarious.

i don't know where this comes from, except that i was lying in bed thinking about nothing at all and then this single line in my head, and then you.

watching night come amber. it's all so temporary.

we should both probably be glad it doesn't happen too often