Fremont has never felt so good.

I sat through after a 6-hour drive, rolled the windows down, and stuck my tongue out like a puppy. Nearing twilight, and I had rhino-sized, anxiety-injected butterflies in my stomach. I ran in the house like I was ten years old again, grabbed my new friend Charlie, and headed to sit on the porch to breathe some living air. Fremont, you feel so good.

While I was away, I'd done an immense amount of thinking and dreamt about such things that rip me apart. There are some things that can't be left behind, no matter how many miles you drive away. It goes 10%, 40%, and 50%. I like being away. I like tearing myself apart from my roots sometimes, even when the remains follow me like a blood hound.
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One week together and the three of us nearly killed each other...

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10 bloody days has been so long and so short all at the same time. I wrote a letter on hotel paper because it felt so intimate thinking of you while tangled in hotel sheets with hotel food crumbs crawling to me. I like to lie around thinking of when I'd fallen in love with you. It's still so strange. I didn't think you could do it. I love you, you know? I'm excited for sleep tonight because tomorrow is the day. The day after 10 days.