The way that the light in my room falls on my fingers as they swim around makes them look like they feel: As if they had been buried in the long locks of hair belonging to some pagan spirit of winter while in the middle of an intense moment that we would share forever in memory, and in dark, dented fingers.

I won't say that I'm back as is customary. I'm not gone, by any means, from this place -- but I feel that I am here now on terms quite different than when I "left".

It's a full moon tonight. When I sit on the ground staring up through my window at the nothingness which surrounds something so beautiful, so beyond comprehension, all I can do is wish that I could somehow keep it forever. This is something I've never been able to do with a camera, as nobody can. My everything wanted me to fall asleep right then so I wouldn't have to return to regularity, which is especially unbending next to the celestial awesomeness of the moon.