POST FOMO

The sound in my heart is purring like the generator in my ear. Silence is the hum. Music is the noise. Loud and immense. A pleasure if there are words and real instruments. Not often. Mainly doof doof. It seems the trending sound. The youngsters like it. I chop onions. I don't care if I'm crying. I feel the osmosis growing through me as the wind pounds around us. Toilet doors fly off. Sand grazes your eyeballs if you're not wearing goggles. I sit and type on a computer with a hole in my chest. My heart still beats on the desert floor, beneath the milky way. I will walk this empty road and try to pick up the pieces wherever I go. But the road is long, and I might not want to carry on. And on and on. Your faces, your eyes, all visit me at night. We converse and we laugh and we adventure and we hold each other's love inside our chests. Two months. Two months. Two months is never enough. Let's live there forever. Let's never have to go. Let's be ourselves, our authentic selves. Let's burn the default world and watch the seedlings through the ashes grow of the new.