No more running from the memories that are slowly driving me insane.
Insane is a strong word. Better to say 'driving a wedge between perception and reality'.
The reality I live in is a low dissolving behind this tempered layer of glassy recollections -- the smells and sights and feelings of being there.
I uses to think it was you, hiding behind them all, deeply masked but you're gone now and you always have been and the eerie second vision comes unbidden anyway.
Some dreams are so strong they have you anyways, whether you live in them or become their prisoner, trapped behind the foggy glass of nostalgic synasthesia.
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