Floating beneath the brilliance of the full moon, I'm shooing away the wispy dark tendrils of sleep, swatting at the lazy tired gnats who are as directionless as I am.
I scrub away the hints of sand from the corners of my eyes and yawn wide enough so to dispel the collection of retiring bats who've claimed sanctuary in the cavern of my ribs.
I've without a purpose other than to carry on with my meager, passive existence in this dark limbo of twilight.
"Go to sleep silly"
As if you sensed from five thousand miles my nocturnal habituation of lethargic solitude,
As if it pierced the air like the dull green blinking at the end of the dock over on East Egg, calling out to you like a tiny beacon of distant opportunity--a lighthouse in the tremulous sea nights of--yes--your own affections and desires emanating back to you.
And all at once, I feel an eternity of connection tethering me back to my plot of soil, somehow not as empty and cold as it felt before.
Because you somehow knew, and that somehow makes my meanderings less of a thing to dwell with, for somehow someone somewhere cares if my soul is restless.
So I'll probably end up going to sleep.
After all, I'll find you again in my dreams.

I’m quite disappointed in myself,
because all I ever have to show for my supposed beloved writings can be chalked up to a pile of sugar-coated, overly-analyzed, exaggerated, (quite pathetically so!) melodramatic infatuation from a stupid girl who casts a boy as her sun in her ever-revolving solar system of sentiments.
It really is quite pathetic,
because I am a deep, competent, sentient human being with opinions and revelations and insights on volumes of topics because I always seek out knowledge and I always attempt to dig deeper into the story than a mere brush against the surface.
And all you ever get to know of this deep, competent, sentient human being with opinions and revelations and insights is that she wants to feel the love from someone other than her platonic fistful of friendships at every measurable instant of her existence.
I contemplate the pursuit of happiness. Life after death. The reasons people must always justify themselves for doing what they want. Aliens. Occular dominance. The breeding rituals of sea slugs.
And all that I actually get down onto the pages is how the curve of his smirk sends me swooning seven years into the future.
But ******, I have something to say
Yet would you know that by peering into my journals? Read up on one of my latest poems—go on ahead.
It’s still about a boy.
They all are.

I've learnt the art of getting by
Now ,
Its time to learn
the art of letting go

Soft night sky blanket
Sprinkled with a million stars
Where I want to be