A suspension in time–this time, here, at home, that is what I feel. As though dreaming, as if not real, reality becomes meaningless. Perhaps, the in between, between dawn and sunrise or dusk and night, between dream and reality, unreal, surreal, that space.

It’s comfortable, like floating in water, warm. Never sure when, if, you’re going to drown. (And even if you do, you don’t know that you have. Drowned, that is.)

It’s the kind of space that you never want to leave, no matter how frustrated or annoyed or hurt you get. This kind of place is a constant; the familiarity is what you like.

I don’t want to wake up.

It runs deeper than that. The reality is that I want them to know that I love them, even though I act like a brat, even when I am irritable. I do these things because I can, and that’s wrong and I’m sorry.

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