What its like.

Helplessly drowning in your own mind is one complex phenomena. 

It's almost as if my brain possesses a bipolar on and off switch. 

Say it aint so...

Imagine a continuous mental cycle containing all your deepest and most discreet desires combating for the ultimate death with nothing other than that antagonizing conscious.

Bloody yet clean, the dire match concludes with a drastic decision you often regret in time spent alone with ones thoughts. 

That's what it entails with 'him'. 

Time spent in each others very presence is clean cut as humor soothes each awkward instance; every butterfly. In the company of other's that discreetness is veiled with dense small talk one might associate with an occasional friendship. 

Cause I know about my Love

He feels me. 

In times of contemplative wanderings or simply staring into the emerald of a television as my mother inhales the appalling world of Latter Day Saints I nonchalantly drift into him. I psychologically graze into the next bedroom where in my blue snaked-skinned pattern overnight bag lays that over-sized tee he gave me one morning as I searched for my own. 

My bound self finds her eyelids drifting into a day dream state and smiles at the thought of the shirts ironic play on the movie Pulp Fiction as Pup Fiction containing dog faces. 

Jolting suddenly out of dreamy haze I extend my free arm lazily to grab my phone. Before my minds eye can capture my actions I've already sent a mindless text. Regret followed by no response. The usual.

Hours pass until I am back into that hazy state of pure emotion. 

Those late nights and early mornings laying sleepily to my own side as his strong arms find there way around my waist and immediately indulged in all his man. Nestled in his all his warmth where any slight chance of escape is recaptured with an earnest pull. 

I drastically open my eyes and seconds later hear that familiar notification. 

He feels me. 

Summertime Sadness

Sundays depress me instantaneously.

Not that typical depression one once felt in the dooms and gloom of my High School years but a lingering; reflective depression.
Not that stress from a months procrastination on a 10 page essay or that gut-wrenching  public presentation your mind has exaggerated into a last will and testament.

Recently, I've found slight solace in the smooth car drive down the hill from our towns quaint suburb. The roads absent of any rugged potholes or uprooted cement; just smooth asphalt and large fortresses with high privacy fences. Stay at home mothers, working fathers and spoiled pets roam the streets for an evening stroll as the sun eases it's outstretched rays.

I slightly gawk at the lavish yet mundane scheme of all of it as my hair blows in the wind and Lana Del Ray sings me the lullaby of my Summer. The hills curve drastically from left to right as my car naturally picks up momentum and coasts down through the sea of American flags surrounding the entrance.

I run through the light and frown as tomorrows, yesterdays and today's burdens hit me like a diamond in the rough.

Work. Finances. College. 'He'. Mom. Dad. Religion. God. Questions. Me...

The American Dream in all it's beauty and ironic fallacies.