Leaving Home, A Reply to Another Me

... No maybes, it's definitely Wednesday. I had a late night again, but this time studying statistics. All these maths in a psych course would've otherwise been a drag, but a day and then some concentrating wove some order back into the chaos. And then some. Turns out being blown out with the fortitude to return opens wormholes I can surf. Maybe I'll take a dip in that volcano? Fuck all this talk of standing at the precipice - let's burn a layer off this onion for a change. That pharmacist knew his empirical evidence, but this week I'm the guy smiling at your dull all knowing eyes when you look up 'anecdotal evidence' in the medical dictionary. Bran, fruit, water, sleep, sauna, meditation, and a geekfeast of mathematics did what benzos could only mimic. Oh, and remembering the way you would've looked on that first night if I'd have had my eyes. Red lava flowing down your shoulders and through my veins. All kinds of Taras spinning white noise on the springtime air. Like a dream. I'm remembering beyond before, and I assure you my friend, that shit is most certainly possible. All standard deviations aside, today I was there, now, where I didn't know I hadn't been. And had. Beguiling, benificent, beyond before. Those stairs aren't going to break this stride. That couch'll be outta there tomorrow, and I'm gonna follow.