the distance between us is minimal, from myself to my heart is miles

Things are things. Feelings come and feelings go. Possessions break down. Suns rise and suns set. The world turns. Our savings gain and deplete. We consume. We waste. We rot.

That ran through my head, over and over and over and over. The room and my head were spinning in a sea of champagne. Someone was pulling out of my driveway, I could see their headlights on my blinds in my window.I didn't want them to leave. But then I did. I took off my shirt and pants and threw pillows back from the floor onto the bed. I put on a mix. I pushed off the sheet, I pulled up the comforter. I arranged the extra pillows around my body like women who had yet to have enough of me. The light was off and the room was blue from the computer screen.

Things are things. Over and over again. Things are things.

I revealed a crush that had existed. Or it hadn't existed. It could have been made up. It could have been the adding of layers to a thirty-one second thought while standing next to someone in a line. Or it could have been consuming me whole, just under the surface. But, really, that is not the case.

I opened my phone to make things right, with the recently departed, and realized nothing had gone wrong. I pushed forward thinking "NO! She doesn't understand!", but what was there to understand? That tonight I sat in the yard and told her things I have told someone else in her chair days before, and will probably tell someone new the same things again in a weeks time? That this excitement I was feeling in seeing her exists only in the pursuit, and that once I see her the excitement fades? That someone somewhere would give much more than I am willing to part with someone of lesser quality than her? That I honestly don't really care?

Things are things.

And they are. And everyday people are creeping closer to sharing the label of things. And is that good? Or bad? Or neither? When do I start assigning worth to people? When I know there names? When I know there phone number? When I know their house? When I know how there heart breaks?

Things are things. Heartbreaks are heartbreaks. I love the people I love.

I need to stop thinking I I am some sort of hunter/gatherer and get back to falling in love.