sometimes

his life was his life, always was, always would be. he had his patterns, his personal home security blanket, his minor dalliances on the side. the blanket was warm, but not fuzzy nor cozy.

he liked things this way. it gave him a semblance of control. he would venture into arenas that he hoped would not challenge his emotional status quo. distant, detached...this was his way, at least outside of the place he called home.

home...a farce in its own right. he knew it yet he kept it. allowed to play like a child on a long leash but always yanked back home.

sometime he thought of her. how she ran away from this nada he offered her. he wished she would be available to embrace that same nada again... knowing that she was not.

life is safe in dreams
you can always wake up