The Freckle in an Ocean of Blue.

Almost home, almost home. A long awaited arrival. A bittersweet welcoming. My fear of forfeiting allies due to resentment, my terror of transformations getting in the way, my concern of cohesiveness not meshing, the dread his desire for commitment is sooner than I'm willing to give...unpleasant notions I force out of my mind, begging myself not to think about. I replace inkling with warm coffee and academic studies, losing myself in complex expressions and the history of ancient man. As soon as I crawl into bed, the suppressed thoughts I’ve tried to exhort clamber back to the forefront of my consciousness. I pray for sleep, for serenity. I pray that soon enough, if I ignore my problems, they’ll unexplainably melt away. Sleep never comes, serenity never comes in my time of need. I over-analyze it all. Play out scenarios in my head, hoping that if I'm presented with a crisis I can use one of my already thought-out conclusions. Although the anxiety from these predicaments are consistent, so are the things I miss. Cake batter ice cream, the freckle in an ocean of blue, the smell of brown sugar breath, having to s t r e t c h to reach.

As much as I hate to admit it, I terribly miss the kid.